May 21
She had auburn hair that fell in waves.
Cascading down like burnt, liquid gold.
The finest malt pouring from crystal decanters.
And she was drunk by them,
Taken in until they'd had enough.
Until she'd wasted them of their minds and manners.
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Poetry For The Lost People
Poetry365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions about the way of the world. A...
