11:40pm

I bottle up my feelings and cap them just to set them on the bookshelf hidden in my coat closet.

I never visit, unless I’m adding another glass bottle to the collection.

Some of them have fallen off and broken open, so the feelings then dissipate into the air.

Maybe I should break them all open;

push the bookshelf over and let the bottles fall to the ground —

let all of the anger and frustration and depression melt into the tile or just evaporate.

I would,

but what if the feelings find their way back to me?

What if I breathe them in and they get back into my head, but only now they’re worse?

What if I never escape them, never find a way away from them?

I’m too afraid to risk it.

I think I’ll just leave them to collect dust for now.