I was small once, and the doorway was honest.
The bottle let me in — sweetness and haze,
a world of amber drunkenness, a promise
I could drink forever, swim its glaze.
I fed on dregs. My shells grew hard each day.
I thought myself so clever: look, free wine,
free walls, free dark. The monsters couldn't find me—
I danced inside my fortress, safe and mine.
Then one day I clawed the neck from the inside.
I scraped the glass. I begged the narrow throat.
But I'd grown soft with waiting, petrified—
now I'm the ornament that floats the boat.
My pleading came too late.
The wine just waits.
I am the thing it keeps.
I decorate.