Painted pins, pushing in,
Draped time, stagnant flow,
Same old questions,
As are the one word soliloquy’s
We so often hear and know,
Genie in a broken bottle,
Afraid to leave,
For his duty has not been forgave,
I absolve you, run away,
Yet, this was not a familiar custom,
Begging, pleading, I accepted,
Three wishes, and then he’d be free,
One: I wish for the answers, each and every one
Two: I wished for companionship
Three: I wished he’d smooth out the edges of the bottle, so he wouldn’t hurt himself on the way out.
Bottle smoothed. Genie leaves.
So many answers, all at once, I can’t decipher, I can’t decode, however long this should be, I’ll never be alone, with all these questions haunting me.