Vodka Blues

Your memory is a knife that I will never dislodge from my hollow chest.
Your name tastes piquant like the last sip of vodka from this bottle.
My heart feels empty.
And I'm beginning to realize.
Realize that the taste of this vodka nor the pain of a thousand knives will ever feel as good as your lips felt against mine.
 
This poem is about: 
Me

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