Wine and death

What were you thinking about when you saw the bottle?

Did you thought: "Oh, this will be my last day"

Or about the sarcastic message you sent as a lifeline?

Did you use the fuzzy fingers on your hand to figure out how many breaths you had left?

It’s that doubts still flood me in the memory of the eight,

in that if you stayed awake until the night mixed with dawn and thought about what was that pushed you and that broke you.

Or is it that in a broken bottle you saw all the answers and just maybe you wanted to bleed your pains away?

I do not get it

Although I do

Thus I reject it

 

But 

How is it that we went from promises for tomorrow to silence between all of us?

What language had that loneliness that no one bothered to translate?

What had those lyrics that talked about sleeping through life that everyone turned into hymns?

That same hymns where you mixed sadness with a misty joy.

Was it the secrecy of the night?

Was it that time didn’t exist and you were cold?

Or that the bottle had already lost its use so you looked for a new one inside your body?

Ta.