A Little black bottle sits high on my shelf. It begs me to come near and open myself.
I try not to notice how long it's sat there. Nor show that I want it or how much I care.
The contents are lethal to those who are alive. It sits so patiently for me to arrive.
Pity the person that splashes it on, they try to hid like something went wrong.
They'll scrub themselves raw to take off this flaw. But it seeps into the pores.
There is no refuge only hidden sores.
The little black bottle has a name all the same. It's full of small bits of guilt and they float in shame.
I try not to notice how long it's sat there. Nor show that I want it or how much I care.
The contents are lethal to those who are alive. It sits so patiently for me to arrive.
Pity the person that splashes it on, they try to hid like something went wrong.
They'll scrub themselves raw to take off this flaw. But it seeps into the pores.
There is no refuge only hidden sores.
The little black bottle has a name all the same. It's full of small bits of guilt and they float in shame.
