Wineglass
Aoibhinn O’Neill 2007 (Laois)
Sometimes I feel like a wineglass,
Shattered to pieces on the cold tile floor.
I pick up my pieces, shiny and sharp,
They draw pricks of blood from my shaking hands.
I put the pieces back together,
Matching the pieces like a bloodied puzzle,
I grab a box of plasters, their warm toned fabric putting my mind at ease,
I use them to hold the glass together,
Trying to keep the shards combined.
I pick up the bottle with my bloody, shaking hand,
I pour more wine into my glass that now is broken and dripping.
I watch as the streams of red fall from the gaps and cracks,
The plasters growing dark red as the wine spills out, the glass falling apart once again.
Sometimes, I feel like the wineglass,
The red liquid falling from the cracks in my porcelain, my skin.
I am forced to pick up the pieces once again,
As the ruby red blood spills from my shaking hands.
I don’t think the plasters will stop it this time,
I don’t think the shards, sharp and thin, want to stay together, not this time.
About this poem
This poem is about self harm and struggles
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Written on July 11, 2023
Submitted by aoibhinnoneill2007 on November 08, 2023
Modified by aoibhinnoneill2007 on November 08, 2023
- 1:03 min read
- 7 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | AXXA BXABX XXAC AXCA DD |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic hexameter |
Characters | 1,016 |
Words | 210 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 5, 4, 4, 2 |
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"Wineglass" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/173295/wineglass>.
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