Her Broken Heart, at the Bottom of the Glass…

She’d, dumped the pieces of her broken heart, at the bottom of the glass, and, she’d, used that stirring rod, mixed her tears in with the booze…

Her broken heart, at the bottom of the glass, moments started, flashing back into her mind, she was reminded of how good they were from the beginning, that sweetness from the love at first sight that she just thirstily drinks up!

not my photograph…

Her broken heart, at the bottom of the glass, that, is all that’s left, of this romance of hers, and, she can’t help but wondered, if things could’ve ended differently, had she done this or not done that? And, the pieces of her broken heart, fell out through the drinking glass, as she tried to catch them by barehand.

And surely enough, she was cut, and, as her hands started bleeding, she’d felt, no pain whatsoever, so she sat, watching herself get cut, by her broken heart, at the bottom of that glass…

not my photo still…

Her broken heart, at the bottom of the glass, it’d, sat there, lifeless, but every now and then, it’d, surprised her, with a beat or two, and every time she thought it was dead for certain, it’d, come back alive, feeling more pains and sufferings than before.

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