Last sip

Here I am once again from these molded wings, one might call a butterfly.
Hands benched in sweat, feet cold as ice, my body shaking all the time.  Vomiting foams, pain from head to toe. Begging for it all to end.
One last sip of wine to bring me some piece of mind.
Hearing voices all around, telling me from high above to open and far below to close my eyes. With whispering one last sip will ease my pain but this color is now deep in my veins. Arms spreading with such force, fighting their way from this drunken cocoon.
Not listening to the voices or the whispers I’m standing with wings as strong as an eagle but left all alone.