I’ve been in love with countless women
over the years
but none of them ever loved me
and how many unrequited loves
does one man need
before he seeks solace
from something else
like the warm touch of madness
or the bottle’s sweet pull
and the sky at night
littered with stars
tiny lights without meaning
pieces of broken glass
scattered beneath my feet
after I dropped the cup
spilling the last of the wine
red
looks almost like blood
over the years
but none of them ever loved me
and how many unrequited loves
does one man need
before he seeks solace
from something else
like the warm touch of madness
or the bottle’s sweet pull
and the sky at night
littered with stars
tiny lights without meaning
pieces of broken glass
scattered beneath my feet
after I dropped the cup
spilling the last of the wine
red
looks almost like blood
1 comments:
I love this. To paraphrase Marquez, art comes from unrequited, not happy love. This poem is a perfect example.
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