Now I am distilled,
An essence merely to be contained.
Poured into a tiny vial
No larger than a fingertip.
Sealed with scraps of cork and wax.

And this is me.
Relegated to a dusty, insignificant
Place upon a shelf.
There to remain,
Trapped within myself.

And the label,
Now yellowed with age,
Hath spidery writing scrawled,
Barely enough there to see
Words that remain. That say
‘Drink Me’.

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