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Shanekwa Nov 2011
Whiskey made the words spew from my mouth.
Word ***** splattering into the air,
                       ruining a perfectly good night.

And instead of painting a beautiful picture with words,
winning your heart with the charisma and vocabulary I had practiced in my head
        over
                and
                       over.

My drunken brain
(which in its stupor had convinced my logical brain that any of this was a good idea in the first place)
connected together a slur of words that now hang forgotten
         only
                by
                    me.

And I apologize.
For the only thing between us now,
                       is the occasional text.
Shanekwa Nov 2011
Take these boulder that rest upon your
weary shoulders.
And crush them into crimson pigments,
so rich
     and dark.

Paint the sunrise of tomorrow
                 and let the morning glow.

— The End —