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My grip on the bottle was tight
as I twirled it in my hand -
the glass was filled with somewhat red wine
I forgot what it was like to be sober
Like the blood running through my veins
the inspiration finally came
I wrote my best when I was intoxicated
I was interrupted by a knock
in came the protagonist of the story
dressed in all black
"You shouldn't be drinking!"
He yelled and grabbed the bottle in my hand
But little did he know -
I was no fan of alcohol, nor was I drunk
"Is this grape juice?"
He asked, after realising that it was not what it seemed
"Cranberry."
I corrected, how could he be so oblivious?
It was never the cause of my intoxication in the first place.
L.S
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YOU ARE READING
DESOLATE
Puisi·•·°·•·°·•· De·so·late So many things could describe my poetry. It is a combination of bliss and bittersweet. One may describe it as the divine taste of strawberries. With a slight twist of sour cherries. You may have it dipped in chocolate with...
