Shelf of Small Remedies

Bottles crowd like whispered fears,

faded labels stained with years.

Caps unscrewed and tossed askew,

aspirin spills in quiet hue.

Fingers sift through plastic ghosts,

doses counted, weighed the most.

Medicine for wounds unseen,

a cluttered shelf, a sterile dream.

Fogged mirror keeps its secrets tight,

a small chaos tucked out of sight.

This cabinet holds no cure for time,

just half-used bottles past their prime.