No Refill

February 12, 2015
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I am your son.
So what are you waiting for?
I’m struggling through the branches
that made me, shaped me,
and scrapped me.
You’d always be asleep,
and you’d never see me.
You know, eventually,


one day you’ll wake up.


And I will be the memory
Capped in your clear orange bottle;
stored away in the back of the pantry.
With two words plastered on the outside of my dwelling:
“No Refill.”
So what are you waiting for?
I am your son.

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