Red Wino

Red Wino

Plunge into the red wine, not to smell the musty aroma, or
savour the acidic grape on tongue...

No — to drown in the tipple.

Mask wretchedness, conceal self-contempt, flee from sadistic notions of hatred, the strident clamour in a throbbing brain.

Slither down the slippery burgundy slope, deeper into a cavernous void, no light, no shadows, no angst — until the launch of another phobic day.

Seek out means to return to that safe abyss.  Beg, rob ... maybe kill, essential to be enveloped by oblivion.  No escape.

So — sink into the tipple, til’ it drowns out those voices, and drags you under to eternal peace.

©June Sciortino 17/11/12