My tears fall quietly down my face. They trickle over every crevice in my tired body like tiny waterfalls in the dead of night. I reach for the bottle on my shelf and place it below each lonely tear. After they run the course of my body, I collect them and store them in the warehouse of my mind. I cap each bottle tight and place it where it can join the thousands of other unlabeled bottles in this darkness. Through the traumas of growing up and the deaths of those around me I have garnered quite the collection. 

I fear the day these shelves exceed their limit and this warehouse becomes a pile of shattered glass and rubble. The hallways of my mind will cave in, trapping any last thoughts inside. My tears will fall again as they escape their chambers and flow as a river through the wreckage. I can hear the coroner as he crunches the broken glass with every step, identifying any dream, any wish killed in the accident. He carries a clipboard, jotting down a description of each victim. Anything to document the tragedy that has occurred. Soon enough he will leave this warehouse behind to rot. Forgetting about the damage he has seen. I await the day nature takes over once more. The grass will grow and the flowers will bloom. They will feed off of the river created by my tears. They will flourish and they will start anew. Maybe then my skies will be bright. Maybe then the birds will return and sing their joyous songs. Maybe then I will find happiness in my life and live peacefully again.