Like a little concealor make up pad
Her bottle of red wine sat.
She was unable to rise without a swig
And she needed some to fall asleep

It was a strange paradox. But take it as it is
When your best friend is that burn down your throat
The one you hold onto, is the one that hurts the most
As the sweet concoction creates the facade
Of somebody else; whose happy.
Who doesnt need it.

It's tragic. I won't argue.
But how can I help?