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The glassshe dresses up with no where to go, she turns on the music and dances around the living room floor sometime she wants more than what life has let her find, she buys her own roses and pours her own glass of wine. Sometime the glass looks half empty, sometime the glass looks half full, and the side of the bed seems lonely, But she's over playing the fool but than she smiles at what she has . playing some smooth jazz, letting go of the past, maybe it's not that bad to be alone some time and pour your own self a sweet glass of wine Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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