Composium of Thoughts

I thought that for once
the bad news would not be born
by me, but
by another.
I crept like a mouse
but the footfalls
were like iron on concrete,
my fingers swished
like swords meeting one
another.

The bottle mostly empty
appears to be a bottle
only slightly full.

anchors
in my side
a kidney stone
holding me to
the land
trees with
villainous smiles
and perpetrators
with golden bracelets
and deep purple hair.
African
stewing man
apologize
apologize
a tiny little something
breaking my fall
into the ocean of
self loathing and
doubt
self esteem
that is in the bottle
that is
is.
which isn't
............
pretty
song.

Composium
COMPOSIUM