May The Bitter Soul Win
Im ashamed, not because I write poems for women like you to cry to.
But that I drink and you become the same women I lie to.
Again, I'm ashamed.
the architect of pleasure and pain.
And a broken vase isn't as beautiful when you glue it back together, the same concept applies to people.
Because bad memories shine bright through broken stain glass feelings in your souls abandoned cathedral.
The Hennessy has been poured, may the bitter soul win.
Comments (2)
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my poet, so much truth dropped here - we have vices that squeeze when fueled by the spirits
Read after vision's poemslove_supreme
Excellent write.
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