Gah, I was determined to get this up for the last day of National Poetry Month, but, well, I forgot about it until now. Still have fifteen or so minutes, so does still count yes? Maybe it's a bit of a, ah, not so happy poem, but I guess I was sad when I wrote it so...it happens. But I like it anyway and working to get it up before midnight, so meh.
Little slips of paper scattered all about.
Not good enough.
Can't help. Want.
Try. Not good enough.
Take up all the papers, drop them into the bottle.
Heavy weights drop.
Forcing them to fit, sealing it tight.
Bury, hide, don't let them see.
Don't let them know.