The Glass Bottle

Imprisoned inside a frail glass bottle;
Peregrinated into a lost atmosphere.
Overshadowed by the untold truths,
Unsure of how I’ve become trapped in here.

Afraid to be found out.
Confused as in what I should do.
Lost in train of thought.
Petrified of what will happen so soon.

Masked by the engravings of distinct shapes
Imprinted by the infinite points of a circle.
Defined by the interminable heartaches
Carved by the perilous knife’s prickle.

Feeling a throbbing pain deep inside my chest;
Wondering if I can somehow suffer less,
But I know that I deserve to be miserable at best
For I have fabricated this mess.

The lies I have created are still concealed,
While my vision is impaired due to my tears,
But I am incapable of perceiving this feeling
For I am too vulnerable to overcome my fears.

Feeling the adrenaline rush though my veins
Like a burst of the fresh autumn air,
Reminding me that there is no difference
Between blood and tears.

Wanting only one question answered.
Challenging those who are unspoken:
Waiting to be smashed onto the ground,
Will the glass bottle ever be broken?