Wine Drunken Self Banter

Cool glass kisses my lips before sweet, oaky wine washes down, settling in, burning my chest. Smoldering behind my ribs, a fire ignites in my mind. If a heart could feel, it would mimic the sting of my wine. Several glasses later, what is usually a bubbly fun kind of drunk, I find nothing but gloomy thoughts that float around, more bitter than my drink.