Poetry: Bottle of Tears by Mark McConville

Bottle of Tears

 

You appear from the shadows

Carrying a bottle of tears

Your own tears.

 

The silence is disturbed

By your screams of discomfort

 

You are manic, standing in clothes,

Matted by spider’s webs and bottom shelf whiskey.

The nightmare has cut through reality

All hope hangs by the loose threads of your coat

 

A numbing sensation hits us

We cannot stand here anymore

We will die of frostbite.

 

Inner conflicts batter our senses

The room seems to be ingrained in our hearts

Jostling with our lives, and there is no way,

Of knowing if we can battle through the noise.

 

Colour, there is no colour,

Only widespread rot

Embedded in the walls and upholstery

Every spore is killing us slowly.

 

Will we see a light?

A dramatic beam from a busted car

A glow from a battery charged torch

Which flickers in and out.

 

This world has not got the answers

And we seem to be falling in and out of sleep

Barely moving her hands to reach for the sliver

Of love that has eluded us until now.

 

The bottle of tears

Do not sit pretty on the shelf

Next to the pictures of bad health.

Mark McConville is a freelance music journalist who has written for many online and print publications. His poetry chapbook Lyrics From The Chamber is  out now.