Poisoned Wine from Poisoned Wife

Oh, the door's open. I stride towards the ghostly white frame and kick out the moonlight with a definite bang. Ah, to be alone. Having to endure a decade of her rambling had really begun to take a toll on my frail heart. My burgundy reflection stares back at me from my warm, sticky hands as they drip like a bloody tap. Celebratory wine trickles down my mouth and blends into my reflection, leaving me clawing at the raging fire-ants crawling up my throat. My eyelids fall to the shroud of darkness peeking through the gaping crack of the door.