Crimson splashed against
The cobbled stone streets,
Painting the crevices red.
The pungent aroma of wine
Enveloped passersby noses.

Eyes staring at the splay
Of rich wine, noticed the
Tiny rivulets flowing down,
Branching out to fill
Every nook and cranny.

One girl among the crowd
Began to shed blood tears
Which dropped into the
Red spreading rivulets,
Adding to the agmenting sorrow.

Out of all the onlookers,
That crying poor girl knew
What the spoiled wine meant.
Her fingers slowly dipped themselves
Into the warm reeking wine,
Still letting forth helpless red
To cascade down her pale face.

How could it be that
The wine branching down
Into crevices away from her was
Exactly how her life became.
Nothing the poor girl did was
Ever right in her favor.

The girl was talentless and she
Tried her best for those she loved
Only to fail. Her life was
Moving ahead of her own pace,
Unable to grasp or take hold.

Staining her fingers red,
The girl followed one of the
Rivulets. tracing the flow with
Her red-dyed finger tip.
At one point, she tried
Blocking the red current
With little success.

Hords of people pulled her
Away, trying to steal the
Bleeding wine for themselves.
Dirty hands dipped into the streams
While tongues lapped selfishly
Like wolves long gone hungry.
Widening her eyes, the girl
Took in all the dirty hungry
People sapping away at her life.