Stream of Conciousness/ Poem

What if the glass broke?

Would you know what it contained?

Blood or red wine, you decide.

As the unknown red substance streams through the page,

The lyrics I was writing, my best work,

Is ruined.

Then I realize that the glass did not break,

Nor did it spill,

I then look at my wrist,

Veins outlined in red,

Blood, not wine, I decide.

But then I look farther up my blood soaked body,

It was not my wrist, outdone, in blood.

It was my heart torn asunder, by love.

What if this killed me?

Would my songs ever be written,

My novel ever published?

I look down to my bedroom floor,

A dark stain begins to widen,

As I bleed out more.

This cruel world hath no more fury, than love.