Drowning Whiskey
See the laughter of his lover,
I think he's angry.
He finds it hard to see the reason.
Overshadowed by smooth wax,
Who is that crying near the bed?
He found her clutching pills, dead.
She was but a soft mistress,
Admired as she sat upon his throne.
Her skin was rough like his love.
It needed no gas, it was push and shove.
He's never alone,
sees another on her pillow.
Dancing models never filled like whiskey kisses.
The moth is drawn into the light.
His lovers shudder at the pleasurable lipstick
He wants to quit but she is his fix.
YOU ARE READING
Honey Drops and Pen Stains
PoetryTravesty, overcome by little else but life's muses; It's jokes. All of this is my original poetry, please do not steal
