(no subject)
I didn't want him back.
I didn't want him.
I didn't want.
I didn't.
I...
wasn't interested in winning him over; I just missed being drunk.
He was intoxicating,
but that bubbling champagne,
that sweet red wine
and fruity hypontic--
that made rooms spin,
and wrinkles blur into beauty,
made dancing flow through my veins
and down my spin--
have fermented,
and all I can taste is old vodka
lingering like bad breath on a parched tongue.
I can finally get this rancid taste out of my mouth
now that i've found some water.