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Carolina Dec 2019
Baby blue, stay between the lines.
Honey dew, smoke it up at night.
Cheering them up, the arrogant boy.
Jazz's getting lost in that hazy joy.
You give them what they want
and they give you what you need.
It's not about the cash,
but about notoriety.
Still thinking of you,
from time to time;
your violent sight,
your Dadá wine.
Anthony Pierre Dec 2019
I had too much wine
He ate all my white truffles
That crude selfish boar
Wine & White Truffles
CautiousRain Dec 2019
SM
Maybe we all self-medicate,
and all of this wine
and all of my words
are my best way of doing so.
draft from october 26th; I might as well publish something, eh? not even going to change the title because I like it the way it is
Serendipity Nov 2019
She's spilling
forbidden wine
on pieces of gauze
taped to a thigh.
Butcher herself,
like meat on a platter
for bite sized brains
to digest.

She is stainless steel teeth,
she is a strained voice,
she is a fighter,
tired,
but resilient
and giving it
her
all.
B Nov 2019
i wonder how you feel
burgundy sweat upon your chin
when your hear the clink
of paper thin glass
in your ear
how do you hear
against intermost words, so crass?
am i so indistinct
when
daydream is your only meal?
sol Nov 2019
the sun sets at
four pm today &
here i am again.
reading poetry with
a stolen cup of
wine from my
mom’s cooler in the fridge.
as my cat sits next to me
coaxing me back from
a depressive ledge
for half an hour
as i read & watch
people richer than me
go shopping on the
television.

you kept me company for
a day & a half
and yet
it’s less than 24 hours
later and i want to jump
again.
i can’t tell you my last
words because then
you’ll try to stop me &
i can’t live with that.
i haven’t been able to.
and if i don’t call in-
don’t call back about
that job application
i always let
everybody down.

i wish i had the sleeping pills now
because this liquid courage might
let
me
drown
you said if i died you’d never delete my number and try to text me all the time but that’s just one stage of grief. i’ll be at peace if you forget about me
lua Nov 2019
she's made of words
of unspoken poetry
a series of novels in the making
and skin littered in love letters

each time she whispers in my ear
i hear lyrics and verses of unsung songs
a melody so sweet
sweeter than wine
and candy combined

each letter she strings together
looks like constellations across the evening
and every syllable she utters blows up in sparks
like lightning in the night sky

yes, she may be hard to read
but she's fun to analyse
how one can be so complex
so beautiful
at the same time

truly
there is no one like her
someone who can speak her own mind
she's unique, fantastical
one of a kind.
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