Oswin, I love you but you're bringing me down.
Its like my heart died.
Empty glasses, empty rooms.
Crown Royal and Chartreuse.
The sunshine and the moonshine.
Holding your hair back,
You're holding me back.
Bar stools and couches,
The grey pillow that slouches.
Maybe I'm wrong, but I can't help but leave.
You're having a good time, I hope.
No, you can finish that one off.
Armagnac is Cognac to me.
It goes down like tears and drunken fits.
Over-proof or 60 proof,
Vodka or Veuve Clicquot,
Pungent or elegant,
You've always looked the same to me.
Wastebaskets and wooden barrels,
Lets not take any chances.
Your throat burns and my eyelashes burn.
You try to be calm but you're filled with fear.
Gentle caresses and gin tonics,
You've lost your big heart.
Old pictures warp through the wet ice,
The smell of Merlot is anything but nice.
A poem about alcoholics that may or may not exist in my life. Its probably too abstract and weird for most people but every word here has a meaning.
