She walked barefoot with slippers in hand
On dried, crumbled, brown leaves
And the sound they made brought back memories
From an ugly past
Of walking just like this on broken glass.
Avoiding shards strewn on the floor
Of the bottle he had flung towards her
Red wine tasting of blood flowing down the stairs
And that’s when she had smiled.
She stepped away from the leaves
And smiled as she wore back her slippers
Not wanting to prick herself again
No wine shall taste of her blood now
No broken piece of glass will cause her pain.