Life Beneath The Words At Play

It's just the wine talking

I miss you.

I miss you so fucking much.

I'm all alone watching TV with no sound because my head is too loud.

Your face is all I can see. I can't think unless it's about you and me.

I'm just hoping you pick up the call.

I want you.

I really do.

But then, of course, it can always be the wine talking.

I need you.

Don't you need me too?

Don't leave me here in the dark hallway.

The walls are colliding.

It must be something in the wine I swallow, making me feel so lonely that I think I'm drowning.

Save me...

I need you!

Because I really really want you.

What's wrong... why aren't you answering my calls.

The ceiling collapsed on me.

You're still not here.

Anwser me!

I keep sipping on the crimson liquid swirling in the tall glass positioned in my hand.

I call you once more and realize what I've done.

The bitter sharp taste of metallic iron in my mouth.

The blood dances on my tongue.

I know why you left me now.

I understand why you won't pick up the phone.

I'm sorry I ever called.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

If you didn't catch that, it wasn't wine in the glass. They were drinking the blood of the person they were trying to contact and acting as if they were drunk off of the blood, thinking it was wine.

When you obsess over someone from the past that you've unknowingly just proved the reason you no longer talk.

Maybe you have a different interpretation of the poem. I tried my best to articulate what I feel like the deeper meaning can be. I still feel there's something I'm overlooking. Please do comment your thoughts!