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Sep 2014
she liked her liquor darker
than the backstreet beat poetry
she read in the cracks
of so few hearts.
she kissed storms and they hit
her back. she called it love.
she collected tears in bottles
and whispered that it was wine,
while the world ignored her,
breathed her in
and spat her out into ***** motels,
with broken mirrors
for broken hearts.
Dean Eastmond
Written by
Dean Eastmond  Weymouth
(Weymouth)   
1.2k
     -, ---, ---, ---, Justin S Wampler and 9 others
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