Cough Syrup and Crumpled Wrappers

Under the seat, lost and dusty,

a bottle half-full of cough syrup lies,

sticky label peeling like it’s forgotten

why it was ever there.

Receipts curled like lost promises,

stale wrappers pressed into cracks,

a plastic rattle, a useless weight

for a car that holds silence,

drive after drive, spinning nowhere.

Why keep this thing that doesn’t heal?

Maybe because letting go is harder,

and this bottle tastes like last winter’s cold

left hanging in the air,

forgotten, but still breathing.