Vintage Red

Like a bottle of red,

I was poured out.

I was enjoyed, closed up and forgotten.

Left on the counter of people’s conscious

But they never returned.

My heart—a cellar

cold and lonely.

The party goes on

And I am forced to sit alone

near the ones that will replace me.

I have been neglected.

Poured out

onto the lips of the ungrateful and then, forgotten.

Welcome, all heretics

I am without answers
No longer polished
And blind to the world around me.

I have lost the facade
Picked up the chains
And thrown them from my feet.

I am perfectly imperfect
Broken
Undone
A twisted rusted mess
Kissing the open sky.

Questions lead to more questions
He meets me there;
Takes the pieces lying around me
And assures me that I'm close to his heart.

I fit in with the misfits
And into the forgotten society
He assures me:
The wondering and wandering are accepted
Beneath the pureness of his untainted love
I stand a mess--

Perfectly content.
Wholly free.