Blood is thicker than wine. I suppose… But not mine. Red weak and thin. Enough to bleed from scratched skin. Could lose a few pints and be fine. Better the white line and dry wine. Thinning every day. Losing the will to stay. Passing straight through the heart. Fast and careless like a dart. My drained eyes will never be the same. What a shame… What a shame… Poem By Sanjeev 'Cimeries' Retnasingam
Art of Cimeries 