Wine & Broken Spirits.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
"Yeah, I thought you were beautiful. But I wept with your movement."

-Bright Eyes

Submitted: April 01, 2008

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Submitted: April 01, 2008



She's a beautiful girl with very few words
and though she loves their composition, she's afraid to be heard.
We smoke cigarettes together in the morning
to hinder the fear of our dreams.
And when she tries to open her mouth, she can hardly speak.
It's funny how we grow with such demand
even while our supply is suffering.

I've got words tangled up all inside of me
like the way her sunglasses cover her eyes.
Everything just looks pitch black
so I take another drink and hope it matches my disguise.

I should have let my thoughts run sober
over my tongue to relay truth.
Not even spoken gospel can measure
to the height I tried living up to.

And just when I thought I saw
her part her lips to speak,
I left her alone on the end of her dark street
with nothing but a flashlight
and a lingering mess for company.
I just hope that she remembers
the sun shines brighter
after the rain has gone to sleep.


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