The Wine

December 8, 2011
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She slowly sips the purple venom
It takes over her like poison
Bitter flavor flows to the steady rhythm
A place where no noise ends

She begins to feel the effects
Of one too many nights alone
Reminiscence of the past reflects
As she sits and begins to moan

Her crystal glass clinks against the bottle
Last drops fall into the basin
She reaches for her sweater with no battle
Something to dry her face in

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