There’s a knot in my throat,
as I frown
These shakes could have another meaning.
My jaw clenches as I force myself
To reassemble dialogues in my head.
Self pity is despicable,
But not as threatening as the self doubt
That wraps around my clouded memory
And squeezes my chest, in shame.
Disgust at uninhibited reactions
Expressions of false confidence.
Although I wish for nothing more than
To retract, erase, repatch
Gauged open wounds;
I need nothing more than
those I fear I've hurt
To heal my shame.

Diaphragm expanded
like the cigarette burns on the empty wood floor
from when I left the mattress there and didnt care anymore,
started laying down beside the beaten, weathered boards;
these decades in the grains of timber grew towards-
I lie inert, my bones the weeping willow's withered roots now stretched forward
to sunlight creeping in the windows through daybreak's drunken disorder.
Dehydrated, tormented, and long tortured;
regurgitations reemerged, restless, pushed shoreward-
dysphoric dreams; no rest beneath intoxicated border.

I thought it was over.
But with a big heave,
My internal sailors pull at the intestinal sail
Trying to right the ship.
Gravity becomes stronger
Down down down
I'm over over over.

                         Make it stop.

Awaking from my self-induced daze
I wasn’t careful
Too much wine
Not enough food
Not enough water
And to my stupid surprise
My head aches
I feel ill
I just want to lay in bed
Part of me is begging not to do it again
But another is begging for more

Flaws don't absolve us of responsibility, yet they erode our agency
by compromising one's decision-making ability.

my chest is heavy and i just want to be emotional
but i'm not even sure how i feel right now
maybe it's a mix of everything
sadness, longing, loneliness
exhaustion, anxiety, irritation, and fear
like a jungle juice of despair
i can't tell where one ends and another begins
but i know i'll have a headache in the morning

last year's hangover
Morning Star blind
without the ride
of imbibing libations

words bled dry
in powdered thought
desiccated emotion
won't rehydrate unsalted
and I just ain't in the mood

shoulda had that drink
winning every battle
lost in war I can't see
but scars burn deep
courting failure
with fear

why fight fate
in altered perceptions
that are all real enough
to feel
in a world where the
only thing concrete
is thought...

bled dry
in last year's hangover

I feel
like I died
a horrible, ****** death
at the hands of some great and terrible beast
with razor claws and gnashing teeth
that escaped its cage and pounced on me,
out of the shadows,
glinting eyes reflecting
fire from the wreckage left
by the mile-long circus train,
now derailed, after running into me

full speed.

Wake up, head pounding,
throat on fire; the air's too bright.
Check where you are,
check what is on you
--clothing or otherwise--
hands croak for water, trembling weakly;
bottles of liquor, open at random;
pick your way through
the jungle of clothing;
single shoes scattered.
A book, earmarked maybe, from another life.