Boxed

I'm a big box of cheap wine
Stacked amongst others in a lonely warehouse
We're up high, perched
Waiting to be picked up and poked open
I want to be spilled and I want to be drunk
I want to be flipped and I want to be thunked
Tired of the constant flourescent lights
They burn my cardboard and bother my spout
Starts to be caustic
Sparks start to fly