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For him, I am a pretty bottle
of alcohol on lustful nights where you
are most lonely,
and you’d shoot yourself to the moon.
He wants to get drunk.
Drunk on me, and would tell me that
he loves me.
And I as bitter and brutal, I would tell him
I don’t. And the morning after
he would crave me again.
He is a heavy drinker,
and I am beautiful and lonely.
Red Eyes, Drunk Lips, Messy Hair by Royla Asghar (via poems-of-madness)

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