I Can't Hold my Wine Glass Right

I can’t hold my wine glass right,
My fingers keep fidgeting a lot,
My relationship is like my posture,
Fingers slipping and scratching it.

The red wine mingles with my blood,
Camouflage, that’s what they call the blend,
Of two liquids so similar, red as the rose,
Yet the thorns will not numb my pain.

Still, I keep drinking, sip by sip,
My effort strains to gulps,
Thirsty for a relief of this thirst,
To drown out the ‘Gallo’ of my glass.

Sleeping Beauty’s lips are stained,
With a tone as red as the rose,
She falls into a drunken haze,
Of dreams filled with thorny roses.