Bottled Tears

Mouth drooping to frown shuts me tighter,
lip,
curled;
down left and right.

Eyebrows carpeted by frowns that won't budge me,
my hand shaking but holding it tight.

I have a feeling in my mouth of,
tongue rolling,
as I refuse to dignify what I hear,
it's pretty much the stench of him angry,
and it tastes like warm bottled tears.