Shaken, Not Stirred...
Sometimes I feel like a bottle of soda.
Shaken up. Pressure building inside.
Ready to explode.
But with the cap on. There's no outlet.
No way to relieve it.
So the bubbles & fizz stay there,
Ready to burst out at any minute
But no one wants to open the bottle, naturally.
So the fizz dies down within itself.
'Til there's nothing left but flat soda.
No bubbles.
Then the soda is shot & you might as well throw it away.
I know that must sound crazy.
But I never said I wasn't.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.