The Bottle

You say I know you better than you even know yourself.

I can read you like a book that you keep on the top shelf,

Hidden. Out of sight, away from prying eyes,

But I see through the bullshit. And I see through your disguise.

I see it in his eyes. When he cries. When he lies.

I look through empty bottles at a man who looks like you,

But he doesn’t say the things you say or do the things you do.

And it feels like you’re so far, but I know that isn’t true.

I feel you coming toward me, like you’re trying to break through.

Trying, but not hard enough. The bottle pulls you back.

You think you’re stretched too thin, but the bottle is your Rack.

It tries to tear you limb from limb, to take back all your gain.

It lies and tells you, “Take me. I’ll diminish all your pain.”

Like the siren in the sea, seducing you away.

The ocean in the bottle drags you down for one more day.

You’re drowning and I cannot seem to get to where you are.

I’d do anything to save you, but it feels like you’re too far.

I can feel you slipping through my fingers like the sand.

And I’m begging you to try to make your way up on dry land.

I wish that I could save you. You can only save yourself.

I know this like I know you, like that book up on the shelf.