Storyteller

I can feel it in the space, right below my throat,
strange sinking heaviness that makes me wanna choke,
So what are you looking for? Another crop of endless stars?
Secret notes written on the dusty windows of cars?

I sing into guitar cords, and empty stained wineglasses,
sitting idly by while I watch as the time passes,

The whiskey was warm, and as most good stories start,
I don’t fall in love, I just cut out my heart.

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