Metaphorically dead, red wine

My brain is a factory of doubt and ill reason,
Still love you inside, not together there’s a reason,
I can’t see things in just black and white,
You make me argue, bicker and fight.

Although I still love you, we must stay apart,
Something deep down means I’m better inside of my heart,
When we’re together, things raw, to the bone,
I constantly think about you, but realise we’re better alone.

Like nails in a coffin, joining two bits of wood,
You’re not really dead, just where I can’t see,
You definately can’t be thinking of me,
I understand that now after all, as if hit by a tree.

Occassional glimpses of you, as I walk on past,
You just sit there, firmly plonked down on your ass,
I’ll never forget you, but can’t drink you no more,
My heart and mind feeling turmoil, split into two.

I miss you like crazy, but my mind just says no,
Cos when I drink you, dont know which way I should go,
I will always love you, you might not know that,
If you could talk, you’d say I’m a twat.

At one time to me, best friend in the world,
So, I’m writing this poem, these words they’re interred,
Wish you no malice, I don’t want you dead,
Plenty of others, go mess with their heads.

Hope that you’re happy, sat on the shelf,
12% vol, not good for my health,
I’ll always love you, so close, we’re no more,
Go find another patron, you crimson red whore.

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