Maledictions, Super serious poetry

The Wine, It Fades.

The Wine, It Fades

The lost volume invites pain (or, fuck, I’ve run out of wine).

White, red, perhaps rosé,

no matter.

Still, my gaze, it rests.

I see the void.

I search, but

no more.


The bottle held aloft, the final drop it teases so, like a dance in the night on the moonlit hill.

The promise of more, a lie, betrayed,

I cannot go on.


It teases me still. I hear the faint whisper of a taste but it does not come.


Why did I only buy one bottle?

Empty glass reflects my darkened soul.

I retire to bed, alone at last.

Next time I will make use of the two-for-one offer at Tesco.

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