Whose bottle is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch her frown. I cry hello.
She gives her bottle a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The bottle is dark, sharp and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
Until then she shall not sleep.
She lies in bed with ducts that weep.
She rises from her bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in her head,
She idolises being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.