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.
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