Transparent were the tattooed tears
which decorate her sunken eyes
Evaporated voices consume
her tongues sheltered lies
And as the fresh Indian ink
blurs her history of pain
She releases from the bottle
a downpour of whisky rain
No umbrella, or sturdy hat
just alcoholic puddles to violently stamp
As she murders every precious minute
healthy stocks keep her damp
Trapped in a deep well
with no definition or shape
Just dark and endless
and no opportunity for escape
A forgotten cigarette
as lonely as she
Creates patterns of confusion
Before she sleeps
Johnny Walker whispers in her ear
“Let the salt of depression
replace the ink in each tear”
© Copyright 2016 Philip H20s. All rights reserved.
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