Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

after some glasses

a fine wine.
dry, bitter blood of grapes
sit on my tongue
the more i drink
the more of what i think
melts into a pool
of foolishness
my eyesight burns
my heart slurs shakespeare
my thoughts long gone
yet i let all the memories
tumble out of my head
speaking of things
the blood of grapes
know are better left unsaid

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