Fluid. Liquid. Water.

Six glasses of Worry

Pour your tears into a bottle
And shake it.
Shake it until it pops into a wine
Black wine
Sip it,
Sip the juice of sorrows
Drink it,
Six glasses of worry
Salty,
It’s your tears in it
Swallow it,
It is sweeter only
If your tongue won’t taste it.
Break them,
The empty bottles
Upon your head.
You cry for
You feel the pain of worry
Not the pain of pain.

Tochi