poetry

Headphones and Wine Bottles

Not exactly dressed for the kill-

Hell, she can’t even walk

In a straight line.

But she’ll still able to find her way

To you.

In these heels,

In those thoughts.

Always.

She dances with wine bottles

While headphones play

Some song

That had nothing to do with you.

Bare feet circling bare floors;

Bare hands hanging onto

Bare walls-

Or the toilet seat.

She feels poetic

Being this kind of broken;

Down in the dumps

Down on the floor

Over a heart that was never hers.

 

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