Red Love The Red is like love. If you're filled with other things, it won't affect much. Consume by itself, and you'll end up drunk. She stands at the door, Hands and body shaking, pops the cork. Biting her lip, She knows she's not supposed to do this. The Red runs just as cold as her heart, Inviting as #life itself before she fell apart. The deep color reminds her of things all too familiar. The stain of dried blood; she's seen for sure. She slowly lets it run to her lips, Allowing her a small fix. It burns in her mouth, stings in her throat. She's been told not to do this before, But it numbs everything... Straight down to her core. Perhaps she drinks the lovers wine in longing, Perhaps it's to forget. Perhaps she doesn't want to care anymore. Or maybe she wants to drown regret. She isn't doing what she should, But God, it feels so good... She can't keep living this way, But change? She's too scared to try. So for now, she'll sit in her room, And drink her bottle dry.