Jars Of Bleeding Hearts

I add insult to injury and bleed into the glass

Cut my lip upon the rim and my tongue upon the wine

Red mixing with the red, only told apart by farce

I've no ire; it's what happens when so sharpened is the vine

It becomes a heady mix, and I'll ask for yet another

A vintage with a copper note is too familiar to waste

Greedily embraced and savoured like a liquid lover

I'll drain it to the dregs to bet on changes to the taste

An insult I can handle, and my injury will heal

Uncork, and leave the bottle on the table by the door

But when one becomes the other all the splinters turn to steel

I'll pass the key with kisses, or just spit it to the floor

The night is joined in song, and I embrace it as a friend

For day's the enemy; illuminates where I have bled

If I pour myself one last, will I finally ascend?

Or will crimson be the colour of my resting place instead...