wounds filled with the red liquid.
Biting, sour and yet so coarse.
My anxiety Just wanted to taste it : to lick it..
The sourness, trobbing in my blood..
One sip just seemed to be enough,
deciced my thoughts; losing their faith of being though,
My eyes: they color the red from the treacherous blood.
Numbness of the reality, causing my life to be faraway from being good..
After all, my body shakes from the need to a fortitude.
I know my lips are never prepared and the wine likes to be so rude..
So rude in the ignition and pain.. Living as a disaster in my blood.
I close my eyes and I know it’s too late..
Losing my breath, my heart and my faith..
Losing the ability to forget.
Losing my life to see it shed…