سیسیم کامنت نداره چرااا

personal

The End

In Therapy

make you sick

pieces

neon skies

Indecisive

dopamine

cold sweat

Death Of Me

There’s a rattle in the kitchen drawer,
I know that sound, I’ve heard it before.
The fizz, the snap, the hiss, the grin—
That’s when the real bad starts to begin.

He calls it juice, he calls it fun,
He calls it "just one, then I’m done."
But he drinks until he can’t stand straight,
And slams the door when he’s home too late.

He smells like fruit and fire and lies,
His eyes go dark, then twice their size.
I hold my breath and count to ten,
But I lose count—he yells again.

Bottle caps, bottle caps, all over the floor,
Each one’s a monster behind the door.
He pops the top and disappears—
What’s left behind is what I fear.

Bottle caps, bottle caps, sweet on the tongue,
But he gets louder with every one.
They roll around like tiny sins—
He’s not my daddy when they win.

He laughs too hard, he cries too loud,
He talks to ghosts and makes me proud—
To hide. To run. To turn to stone.
To pray real quiet when we’re alone.

Sometimes he hugs me, then lets go,
And throws the TV through the snow.
Says, “Don’t look at me like your mom,”
But I don’t know what I did wrong.

He stumbles down and I go numb,
He says it’s not the drink—it’s them.
I step on caps and they cut my feet,
I guess that’s what he means by sweet.

Bottle caps, bottle caps, rattling loud,
I hear them coming and I’m not proud.
He opens one like opening war—
And I just slide beneath the floor.

Bottle caps, bottle caps, cherry and pain,
He drinks the joy, then screams my name.
They said it's fun, they said it’s cool—
But no one said it breaks the rules.

He tells me I’m his little star,
But stars don’t live where bruises are.
He says he loves me, then he falls—
And I don’t feel much love at all.

Bottle caps, bottle caps, candy lies,
Lined up neat like alibis.
He pops the top and slips away,
And I grow older every day.

Bottle caps, bottle caps, bitter and blue,
They taste like him, they taste like truth.
I used to beg him, “Please just stop…”
Now I just sweep them up.

He says he’ll quit, he says he might—
But every cap’s another night.
I hate the ones that fizz and pop…
I wish the bottle came with a lock.

Bottle Caps

just a kid making music for the world to enjoy

personal

Jake Cornell

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