It's one in the morning
And tomorrow's your birthday.
But I shouldn't care about that, right?
I thought you could love me, but you broke me.
Doesn't matter now, it'll all be forgotten thanks to whiskey.
The bartender says I should leave,
but I can't go home
Where I'll remember your name in the morning.
When I'm here it's all discarded hopes
And whitewashed dreams
Swimming in whiskey.
YOU ARE READING
November- #aseverythingturnsgrey
PoetryIn the month of November, writers Kat Savage and J.R. Rogue are hosting a series of writing prompts called #aseverythingturnsgrey . These are my contributions. Enjoy!
