Empty Bottles Full of Stories Read online

  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