My vision is a blurry mess
As I awake and peel my face from a cold tile floor.
My hands rest on a smooth cold surface,
Porcelain.
As my vision spins I ease myself to my knees,
Using the porcelain.
Remnants from the previous twelve hours spill from my mouth,
Into the porcelain.
The metallic taste of blood is lingering on my tongue,
The color red clings to the color white
Of the porcelain.
I try to piece together how I got to where I am.
Where is it that I am?
Why am I where I am?
I push myself to my feet,
Using the porcelain.
I push down the silver switch and watch,
I watch as water washes my stains away
From the porcelain.
My vision turns to stars.
So I sit,
Sit upon the porcelain.
It is then I realize where I am,
I am in my home.
I turn and look to the mirror for guidance,
but I do not recognize the person I see.
I slide back to the cold tile floor,
And as I do I feel my head crack,
Crack upon the porcelain.
And once again red clings to white,
And the red slowly runs,
Runs down the porcelain.