****** and ***** around me
an out of tune guitar
and a **** soaked floor

eyes bloodshot red
a single tear running down my cheek
waiter, please bring another gin on the rocks

im ******* myself now
too drunk to pass out
i throw up, thinking my wife hates me now

i fall down on the floor
break my nose and jaw
smear my face with *****,  i look beautiful  now

the waitress picks me up
i reek of **** and ****
give me a kiss, on your red wine lips

i finally leave,
find a lonely tree,
say goodnight to the blue sky, the gin puts me to sleep.
I don't want to see no other eyes
I don't want to hear no other laughs
I just want you to be mine
I just want to say my goodbyes.

No other green eyes will shine
No other laughs will make me cry
Baby, can i see your smile
Just one last time?

I just want you to know that
Your blue hair will be my sky,
Your red lips will be my wine
And your voice...

That was the demise.
My love, may you shine forever bright.
i need more wine
more wine to understand my love
for you

its deeper than my thoughts,
its deeper than the ocean itself,
my love is endless

i will love you when you are with him
i will love you when you marry him
i will love you regardless

but now i must drink,
i must find the words i seek
because you are more than the poems i speak.
it was a stormy december night
the wind was howling
and *** was singing with all his might,

the horses were shook
when they heard
a demon singing a flute

in the tales of the old
t'was a bad omen
but for us, we were lost in the moment

we didn't care for the demons looks
nor how he burned our books
all we knew - it was bottles work

in the mountains up high
we died that day
but the flute still remains

charming every man
with its play
be careful fellow man, its the devil's play.
what are love poems
but the death of us,
the death of poetry
and all things love,

they are liliths work,
they are in samaels hidden book

*** doesn't read love poems,
if he did there would be no suffering
all poets would live happily ever
after with their muses

all painters would be be happy,
and art would be a shallow form
of a genocide,
orchestrated by the all mighty himself.
a storm is brewing outside
while the winter palace
is dancing tonight

a family of tsars
happily making rounds
of red wine

little do they know
that a song
will change their life

the piano keys
make a rumble
and sing once upon a december

the wine spills
and the women scream
but in the end, the tsars did not yield.
Martynas Nov 12
your perfect black dress
casts a shadow upon my damaged mind
come, see the dead
come inside my mind
with your perfect black dress

we will dance and we will feast
in the halls of Paree
amongst the peddles of bones
we will create
a passion ever so grey,

for me, you are a poem that breathes
in your perfect black dress
made of silk,
but when my desire dims
into the grave, you will
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