i’m wearing malbec lipstick at 330 in the afternoon, my own personal hue that stains lips and teeth, drips down my chin so a tongue flicks out to savor the drop. it leaves a maroon trace like i’ve been ******* blood.
when i swill the wine, it captivates me. like i'm swishing around my own blood, praying enough of it sloshes out to **** me.
i’m headed to catholic church in an hour, maybe i’ll light a candle for myself.
god knows i ******* need it.
i’m at that delicate lining, the in-between stage of the five stages of grief. the soft spot at the base of my skull. self-destruct button that’s so tempting, nestled between anger and depression. skip bargaining. take a trip around the sun.
i've lost my hair tie and i want it back.
i've lost my heart and i want it back. ******* give it back.
reapply mauve lipstick the flavor of malbec. go to church. rinse the good off when you get home.
i still feel him inside of me. taking everything. claiming it as his own, two hundred and fifty-eight hours later. like he’s stained me and now i'm tainted and unapproachable. undesirable.
piece of plastic wrap that used to keep his heart fresh, now i'm trash.
now i’m his.

I shall not call myself
a poet
to thee
Instead
I shall allow you
to walk by
and judge me
like the bottle of wine
you did not buy
because my label
appears plain.

Simple
on the outside
I may be
but within
I'm bursting
with flavors
you can't even begin
to see.

And I won't whisper
all
your misgivings

I'm sure
Muscato
is sweet
I know
fancy
and perhaps
giving

You won't know all
by looking at me
even once you're in
tasting to try
the lingering spice
leaves you
craving
drinking me dry.

and even then..

Not even close to who I thought I'd be,
feels like everyone is looking at me,
expecting more than what comes easily;
I can't give them what they want to see.

Relief does not come to me, it seems so,
that through motions of grief I must go.
Feeling pain so deep, feeling so low,
when it will stop, I do not know.

I feel changed down in my very core;
everything is feeling ever so sore.
I gave up on trying to keep score,
nothing seems to matter anymore.

All the things I used to want are gone
it used to matter, but now, so long.
Things do change and I was wrong
it seems after all, I'm not very strong.

It turns out that I am no longer the same
turning the tables on life's silly game.
I can't even say my mother's name
and there's no one in this world to blame.

Grief changes things, especially time,
as moments go slow or quick as a dime.
Wishing, thinking everything is fine
but really I'm drowning myself in wine.

absorbing comprehension
so sweet like red wine
yet surprised by your wet kiss