I am just a glass bottle hanging from a tree,
oscillating in an orbit of pain
to the tune of my circumstances.
My emotions are somewhere sealed
inside that airtight bottle,
I think they are transparent
They are actually invisible to the onlooker.
And he asks,
What are you a glass bottle doing
clinging on to a bare tree?
I'm better off with my fellow bottle mates.
But once our paths collide,
Won't we just crash and break
and let loose that noxious subtance
which man calls love and
I call pain?
Written for Sunday muse's picture prompt.