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Chest of Whores

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Four drawers open.

Two remain shut.

A bottle on top nearly empty.

A thirsty man to drink a plenty.

Yet through eyes unknown

To you fuck or to I.

A faulty breath to breathe.

Another question of why?

To why you list another day?

To why you feel damned dismay?

A quaint matchbox that holds a heart.

Of billowing eerie.

Of fragmented parts.

Comments (3)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Like it alot!

Vangoman
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The title really caught my attention...and the rest of the poem delivered. Well done!

grunfruaorshell
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Thank you both. I very much appreciate it!

tzett1
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