It's bad metaphor Monday
and the fluorescent lights
are still pulsing.

My hair is tangled and matted
and I ran out of cigarettes
       hours ago.

Deep pools of purple
are welling under my eyes
and a knot in my stomach
is chewing on my insides.

There's an acid slug
slinking around my head
and liquid candy drops
are trickling down my spine.

I picked off all my fake fingernails
because there was an itch underneath them,
and there's a clammy moisture
gathering at the bottom of my brainstem.

I haven't slept in days
and I'm still lost in last­ night,
because the sun don't shine
in a drug-cluttered mind