Bottles
By Abigail Schlegl
Bottle it up, ninety-nine on a wall
Ninety- eight, can’t you feel the fear
Caged in a dome of a twenty-mile radius
Filled to the brim
They never care what your name is
Ninety- seven, shattered, scattered, made you feel small
So many eyes, waiting for you to fall
Your last inch is the circle you create
Last view is the picket white gate
But if I stand tall, it is me you will hate
Ninety- six, arguments that can never be won
Ninety- five internal songs, silently sung
Ninety- four times you had to outrun
Ninety- three moments to the beat of a drum
Ninety- two memories you couldn’t see anymore
Ninety-one scars you simply can’t ignore
And zero bottles you broke.
Bottle it up, ninety-nine on a wall
Ninety- eight, can’t you feel the fear
Caged in a dome of a twenty-mile radius
Filled to the brim
They never care what your name is
Ninety- seven, shattered, scattered, made you feel small
So many eyes, waiting for you to fall
Your last inch is the circle you create
Last view is the picket white gate
But if I stand tall, it is me you will hate
Ninety- six, arguments that can never be won
Ninety- five internal songs, silently sung
Ninety- four times you had to outrun
Ninety- three moments to the beat of a drum
Ninety- two memories you couldn’t see anymore
Ninety-one scars you simply can’t ignore
And zero bottles you broke.