Lonely - Poem by Holden Masters
I'm tired drinking French vinager out of a dirty glass
I have sat hear for hours making countries out of stains on the floor
Building matches up like bonfires and dowsing them with the worst merlot
These are the things I do when I'm coming down, these are things I do now your
not a round.
I take my glass and fall through the stairs up to night and perch on a field of feathers and springs
I set down my glass, I hit it off last nights prize fight empty whiskey cup, CHEERS
here's to the basterds and whores who break are harts and here's to you.
These are the thoughts I have when I'm coming down, these are the thoughts I have
now your not around.
Like love avades the lonely, sleep is still a dream away.
Here's to ya,
Who ever you my be
Comments about Lonely by Holden Masters
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You