Every time she sips her wine,
her words hurt
even more than mine.
Every time she raises her glass
she never even stops to ask,
if every smile is just a mask,
an accumulation of worry and pain,
the pain that leaves us broken
all the same.
She drinks her wine, her whiskey, her vodka
all in vain.
And the woman loves storms so much,
you'd think the rain was made of such.
YOU ARE READING
Stardust
PoetryThis is a collection of short epigrams that I consider poetry. I hope you can find something within the words that make your eyes light up, your soul ignite, and your heart flutter. In these poems I talk about loss, life, and love. Enjoy, friends. :)
