Grapes of Love

I wake up

hung over from the night before

the air is ripe with familiarity

my feet hit the floor

first, a shower

then comes an hour

drowning in shower thoughts

steam fills the air as I fill with regret

I have failed

I have succumbed

to the divine taste of wine

yet again

numbness runs down my spine

as I recall the siren song

the bottle played me all night long

the warmth of its voice still breathing down my neck

I am trapped

at the bottom

not of a bottle

but in the pit of despair

the bottle is merely my fleeting attempt to pull me out of there

I claw

I clammer

Grasping vice after vice

attempting my way back to the better version of me that I barely remember

my hope

is a thread

my shame

is sharp

can I climb my way up before I cut me apart?

I am luck to say

the answer is yes

I have taken the time to grow my own vine

yes, I am on the mend

self-love is in season

for I partake in a daily ritual

harvesting the grapes of love I now grow from within

Grapes of Love

The Mundane

Day in. Day Out.

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