Scorned, Worn and Forlorn

This came to me in a burst of inspiration. When ever does it not?

Her hands cradled the last of her hope,
Splashed against the newly tiled carpet.
Red wine seeps down
Into the floorboards
Of time.
Another year
Of delight and sorrow,
And the discovery of adventures
And times still to come.
Yet her eyes told a tale
Of utter despair.
She no longer wished to carry the burden
Of life.
She opened her hands,
And let all her hopes
Crash to the ground,
While she waited for the effects
To kick in.

Author's Note

Is the idea of this woman commiting suicide expressed well enough? Did you figure that bit out or am I writing too abstract?