Of all those feelings of self-hatred,
And as I try to stop all thoughts
Of madly-woven suicide plans,
I gaze upon the shattered glass,
Amidst the wreck that is my room.
I see and smell the pure grape wine-
Now spilled and sparkling, emulating rubies.
The cup is shattered--like my heart,
Irreperably destroyed, bleeding endlessly.
I look, admiring this perfect metaphor.
Though in abject drunkenness, I see
All the agony I am enduring
Presented in this gory scene
Created in my fit of rage
When I destroyed my fine wine cup.
It is all so clear to me,
Though nothing else on my mind is;
I see that room that is my life,
I see that cup which was my heart,
I smell my breath, remembering her's,
And thus I spend all of my time.
Adonis
P.S. This is all FICTION!!! Nothing is wrong with my life, so do not try to cure me and stop me from ending my life right now because I'm NOT going to attempt it.
