The empty wine bottle taunts her
Drunken history plays rewind

Casting stumbling shadows
On a brick wall she's trapped behind

Shattering on the floor
Bloody hands drip crimson pieces

Purple bruises on her hips
"It's where he must have beaten."

Voices whisper beneath trees
Into the ears of liars who never secret keep

Her bloodshot eyes close
Each snapshot flooding a memory of home

The cork pops off
A purple liquid she happily drowns in

Hiding the scars on her hand, matching the bruises on her hips, and numbing the pain roaring within

Her tongue victim to the bitter taste,
Of the worlds ruins and a drunken fate