deepundergroundpoetry.com
Spilt Vodkas
Her fake tan is rubbing off onto my jeans
helped on its way by countless spilt vodkas
this is no lipstick on the collar
sadly it’s just friendship
she’s crying that she’ll never be loved
that her drinking will kill her
that she’s going crazy
no different to any other girl on a Friday night
she’s already loved
but I’ll never make her spill vodkas
and that’s the drama she craves
all I can do is put my shot glass next to hers
rejection on a daily basis
even unsaid
is enough to kill a man’s soul
I tell her I have to go
she seems distressed
but it’s not borne from any longing desire
which is why I HAVE to go
and scrub the St Tropez from my denim.
helped on its way by countless spilt vodkas
this is no lipstick on the collar
sadly it’s just friendship
she’s crying that she’ll never be loved
that her drinking will kill her
that she’s going crazy
no different to any other girl on a Friday night
she’s already loved
but I’ll never make her spill vodkas
and that’s the drama she craves
all I can do is put my shot glass next to hers
rejection on a daily basis
even unsaid
is enough to kill a man’s soul
I tell her I have to go
she seems distressed
but it’s not borne from any longing desire
which is why I HAVE to go
and scrub the St Tropez from my denim.
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