The Goblet.

January 25, 2010
A fire blown glass of poison.
Meant for lips to touch.
It's a burning sensation.
It's hard to handle so much.
Yet, she drinks.
Like it's water. A thirst that doesn't die.
It latches onto heartbreak and escapades in the night.
It burns her lips to ashes.
Yet it's always by her side.
In the night.
On the floor.
It's last words are goodnight.

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