Whiskey glasses and midnight thought,
A terrible concoction of dark, smooth truths.
Of spilled loves and hopeful hopeless dreams.
Half ass apologies to empty bottles, brothels of harbored men that walk through.
glistened and pruned to reach ears but never to far to be heard.
Of jumbled thought and broken promises left unsaid.
Of cries of the youth she never lived through so she could let whiskey replace wine.
So that child could become silk and heel, to exude and exclude.
To be a woman she left all her childishness at doors of boys she claimed to love.
To be a woman of whiskey glasses and empty midnight thoughts,
That spilled truths and plead guilty of leaving rare love as a raw metal be neath the Cresent earth floor.
To be at the big boy table.
Each sip drowning sorrow and lost soul that went away when mind and thought became more important than feel and heart.
If only she knew that whiskey was bitter and hard to swallow and wine was smooth.
That whiskey was hard, and wine, Wine a soft palet to caress your tongue was at her true essence.
But she sat red silk, black heels. Diamond studs and whiskey glasses.
YOU ARE READING
Salvaged Soul
Poetry"The mind is a beautiful servant but a dangerous master" It said "so i must then let it serve my soul" I whispered A salvaged soul is not new, it is old. It has lost and is still losing but is no longer who it was when it first broke. To be one step...
