Sleep is Your Witness.

I lied my drunken head,
Upon the stones in the vineyard.
And shut my restless eyes,
Because sleep withholds the act of slashing.
After weeks of long sleepless night,
I drift with the thought of murder on my mind.
Sleep... Is my only witness.

I woke up two day before then,
With a headache and the strong smell of wine.
Blood slithered down my head,
From the rocks I slept on for so long.
I was sore and covered in the dry blood
I lasted in.