We've grown old together - hand in hand
Lying on one other all these years,
Holding on to words that take a stand,
Soaking in all Scarlet's dried up tears.
He had a lot of style back then.
All his friends who heard Him write
Would throw their tools and pick up pens
Like children tearing books and chasing kites.
But then His friends grew bigger
Than His spoken and written words
Since their wages were too meager,
Leaving nothing but poetic shards.
Scarlet collapsed from too much love
But still hungry from too many fasts,
Leaving us behind - two jailed doves
And His bottles - empty and unchaste.
He comes in here now and again
Talking to more bottles about Scarlet,
As both of us cry out to him in pain
"Let's find something new to abet".
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