She’s sorely drunk at 5 am on a Monday

Stained lips wrapped around a bottle of gin

Frosted eyes looking off the white fenced balcony 

Facing the moon as it falls faster than her body off the ottoman

And her feet shuffle around the wilted plants on the hard-wood floor

That's slumped down in a broken pile of glass and sand

Handprint on the mirror

Shooting across like a missile to the edges of the frame

Where the hands of Mary meet the ladle that holds the blood of God

And the eyes they stare at her

With the deep burgundy in their grasp

Snide judgment shown on a lifeless face

And the eyes that stare back hold none either