Ms. Bottle promises downtime, she’s half-dressed, vowing juicy solutions to stress.
She says, the world is going too fast, isolation and complications punch arms until flattening occurs.
She leans in and whispers God has stepped out, voicemails only, claims he doesn’t own you, but I’ll hold tight tonight.
Flicking her hair in a wrist twist, promising one or two bottles will do, until God comes back to his office.
Hours go by, I start to cry, she giggles asking me why, the thirst I felt feels drier.
In my ears, face to face she screams RELAX!
Exposing another bottle, all I hear is this will calm tender nerves when you’ve been kicked to the curve, I know it isn’t true, she’s moving suggestively and I’ve better leave.
I prefer water, living water, not dehydration, humiliation, liquid temptation and pain.