Empty Bottles Full of Stories
Page 1
also by r.h. Sin
Whiskey Words & a Shovel
Whiskey Words & a Shovel II
Whiskey Words & a Shovel III
Rest in the Mourning
A Beautiful Composition of Broken
Algedonic
She Felt Like Feeling Nothing
Planting Gardens in Graves
Planting Gardens in Graves Volume Two
Planting Gardens in Graves Volume Three
We Hope This Reaches You in Time
with Samantha King Holmes
Also by Robert M. Drake
The King Is Dead
Dawn of Mayhem
Seeds of Wrath
Moon Matrix
The Great Artist
Dead Pop Art
Beautiful Chaos 2
Chaos Theory
Star Theory
Light Theory
Moon Theory
Gravity: A Novel
Seeds of Chaos
Beautiful and Damned
Beautiful Chaos
A Brilliant Madness
Black Butterfly
Broken Flowers
Spaceship
Science
THE CURSE
THE CURSE CONTENTS
TWO PEOPLE
WHAT PEOPLE NEED
HARD EDGES
WHAT WE DO
WHOM YOU LOVE
MY COUNTRY
MUCH SENSE
BLOOMING
TOO LATE
WHAT THEY DON’T TEACH IN SCIENCE CLASS
THE ISSUE
RUN WITH YOU
I THINK, I DON’T THINK
STORIES
TOO MUCH OF ANYTHING IS BAD
SORROW RISES
A GIRL I ONCE KNEW
LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER
ALWAYS IN ME
TOO MUCH DARKNESS
TWO SIDES
OBEY OBEY OBEY
FAME IS DEAD
SOCIETY
REJOICE IS PERFECT
STORMS
B. OBAMA
THE REALIZATION
PIERCING SOUL
FEELS FAMILIAR
WANT IT OR NOT
ENOUGH IS NEVER ENOUGH
OF COURSE
BEST KIND . . .
DISTANCE 2
I AM NOT SORRY
IT FEELS THE WAY IT FEELS
ABOUT YOU
I OFTEN . . .
THE THING ABOUT YOU
MOMENT OF SILENCE
IN ALL MY . . .
BROKEN PEOPLE
THINGS YOU FEEL
WHO YOU ARE
CALL YOU
THE LAST WORD
A GIRL FROM THE PAST
TWO PEOPLE
Distance has a funny way
of reminding you
how close two people
could either grow apart
or grow closer together.
And now you’re gone
and I am here
wondering
if letting you go
was the right thing
to do.
I just hope
that somewhere,
in some thread of time,
you’re doing okay.
So, in the meantime,
I will be thinking
of you
and I will be missing you
and I will be hoping
that some way,
some how,
you’d find
the inspiration needed
to find your way
back home.
WHAT PEOPLE NEED
People want to heal.
They want to know
how the stars
ended up on their hands,
how the comets soar
through their eyes,
and how the flowers grow
within their hearts . . .
when all hope is lost.
They want other people,
like you,
to feel the force of things,
to understand the magnitude
of the falling heart,
of the breaking heart.
They want to know
they’re not alone . . .
that their hands
were meant to fill
other hands
and that the black holes
in their souls
lead to the most
beautiful of places.
Like the ones
you can’t outrun.
Like the ones
you gravitate toward.
My child,
this is what they want.
This is what brings
people closer.
Know,
how some people have lost
their way,
but please believe,
that ultimately,
we all obtain the goodness
of the gods.
We all want to be saved
and
we are all looking for
reasons to love.
My child,
before I leave you,
KNOW,
that the world is hard,
that people are soft,
and all of us
are terribly looking for ways
NOT to shatter.
HARD EDGES
Beneath my hard edges.
Beneath my torn,
battered heart.
Beneath my sunbathed flesh
and these worn bones.
Please believe,
that somewhere in me,
there is a love song
and it is the kind
you listen to
while driving
back home.
WHAT WE DO
It’s what we do.
The same things
over and over.
Where risk blooms
and the pain of growth
stings
from the marrow
of the bone.
From the moment of birth
till death . . .
it is all,
after all,
about the meaning.
The in-between,
the moments of chaos,
the ones where it feels
as if our lives
are falling apart.
That brink of losing it,
all of it.
Where there is pain,
there is love.
Where there is failure,
there is success.
Where there is war,
there is peace.
It is what we do
from start to finish . . .
not where time pivots
the two.
It is what you collect,
not what you let go.
It is what you feel,
not what you think
you feel.
Real is real
and what you do
means nothing
if you do not understand
why you do
the things
you have
done,
and what you
have given up
and lost
for a chance to love.
WHOM YOU LOVE
It’s about
the way you
love,
not whom you
love.
Whom you spend
your life with,
not whom you know.
The same way
it’s about
the things you do,
not what you say.
Know the difference.
That’s what makes you
who you are.
MY COUNTRY
O country, my country.
I see your people
feeling the wrath
of the wealthy.
The wrath
of those who don’t see
the future as a promise
but as their doom.
O country, my country.
I see your people
without the grasp of hope,
drowning in the bitter bowl,
the one that the great beast,
the great American corporation,
feasts on.
O country, my country.
I see your banks,
your health care,
your dream being sold
to the poor,
to the men and the women
who are robbed
of their own place
in the system
they helped build.
O country, my country.
I see the land severely wounded.
I see its blood flooding,
the cities,
the agriculture,
and the oceans.
I see the tears of those
who feel . . .
filling the graves of their ancestors,
the ones who know
the truth behind this promise
of justice,
of equality, and of the pursuit
of happiness.
O country, my country.
More wars, more death,
and more suffering.
The three comrades
are stretching toward other countries . . . convincing them to follow,
that this truth
is holy.
O country, my country.
Does life end
the moment we step outside?
Does life begin
the moment we are invited
to stand with them?
So the people you collect
look up
and the 1 percent
continue to look down?
O country, my country.
I see the people being told
how to think,
what to think,
when to think,
and where.
I see the people enslaved
by your Internet,
your televisions,
your mobile phones,
and your radios.
O country, my country.
I plead for freedom,
that of speech,
religion, and culture.
I seek the truth
we’ve never been told.
The truth of your past
and how the natives were killed
to transform you
for their democracy.
O country, my country.
I see no peace.
I see you in pain.
I see the sadness in your eyes
and you see it in ours.
I see no responsibility,
no courage, no guts,
no true love.
O country, my country.
The propaganda is endless.
The hate is too great
and too dangerous
and the love is too dim
and out of reach.
The game is too hard
and we have been cheated
from the first breath
of life.
O country, my country.
Please let me go.
Please set me free.
Please do not kill the youth.
Do not kill the inspiration,
the rebellion of children,
the dream,
and the feeling the people need
to go on.
Please understand
that without us
there is no you.
Please understand
that we, too, bleed
and have bled
for our families.
Please understand
that like you,
we, too,
have much to offer the world.
O country, my country.
Please love your people.
That is
the only way
we both
will survive.
MUCH SENSE
I get you,
you don’t know
how you feel.
Well,
I will tell you this:
the world doesn’t
make much sense
without
the people
you love.
BLOOMING
No matter what they say,
know,
that all good things
take time to bloom
and all sadness
is not a waste
of life.
Sadness,
like happiness,
is delicate and temporary.
So here’s to you
for being true . . .
for being beautiful.
The sun is the brightest thing
in the sky
and so are you.
Be easy on yourself.
Be cool.
A flower is still
a flower . . .
no matter
what it goes through
and no matter
where it decides
to bloom.
TOO LATE
You’ve gone through
so many lovers
that you begin to forget
what it is you love
about being in love.
It becomes useless,
this idea of it,
of finding it,
of keeping it,
and believing it was meant
to save you.
(As we all tend to believe
from time to time.)
Then, one night,
out of the silent flares
from the moon . . .
you discover her.
A woman filled
with cleverness and adventure.
A woman filled with passion,
charm, and an appetite
for life.
You take her
or rather, she takes you
into her past,
into your past,
to begin from within.
And this time,
as you do,
as you’re reborn from the ashes
of your old life.
You remember her
and thank her,
this rare woman, who nearly
saved you.
You thank her
for showing you the way.
You thank her
<
br /> for pulling your feet
out of the grave.
And the funny thing is,
how soon enough,
you’ll ignore her.
You’ll add her to the banks
of your memory
with the rest of them.
You’ll go on,
and experience
other
average lovers once again.
And it always happens
like this:
you’ll remember her
when it’s too late,
and you’ll lose your mind,
and your heart
just as swiftly
as she returned it.
You’ll beat yourself up
for the rest of your life
for losing
your one true love.
Damn.
Too often
this is how it ends . . .
and too often
do we, as people,
only appreciate someone
once
they are gone.
WHAT THEY DON’T TEACH IN SCIENCE CLASS
Because missing you
is a science
and I’m still
a scientist
and the chemistry between
the heart and love
will always
be a lie.
THE ISSUE
The issue is,
you think
you own love forever.
You think
the people around you
will have it, too.
Don’t waste any time.
Tell them
you need them,
show them
why now is important.
Why now is special.
We might never get
this chance
ever again.
The past is always growing
and time
is just another metaphor
that represents
all the people
we’ve lost.
RUN WITH YOU
I don’t know
how many times
you’ve been
broken
and I don’t know
how many times
you’ve fallen
but I do know one thing.
You make me
want to run with you.
You make me
want to find
that one place,
where I can surrender
and make sense
of all this love
I have contained
within.
I want to run away
with you . . .
somewhere far . . .
where the wolves
have gone missing
and the butterflies
continuously spread their wings.
I want to find this place
with you . . .
and I want to grow
old there.
That’s all.
I THINK, I DON’T THINK
I think