Bottled

Asphyxiate this emptiness
And it will be a tight squeeze
As the ball of gall gets rolling
Clinking,
Clank

Clunk.

Into the brains that were,
Taste the ambrosia of full-bodied
Amnesia. It is difficult,
To ponder, or stow-away

This endless rolling
On sharp ends.
Thud. On. Thud.

I remember the times when life was water,
Weaving in between set strands
Melodic like a fine tuned guitar,
Energy stored,
and then flow.

But the present make heartless
Grind. A drawn out sulk
Gives more comfort
Than this merciless banging
On sharpened nerves.

I need a break from rest.