Sometimes,

On the mornings when I wake up drunk,

I notice things like the cobwebs between the railing of the stairs.

The aesthetic touch of blue that hangs above me.

Just how great it feels to lay down. Anywhere. 

And that I don’t remember the end of the night. 


Sometimes,

During the nights when I am on ecstasy,

I acknowledge our destructive behaviors,

but also the potential of each and every one of us. 

Thoughts trying to proceed in reaching the truth,

But are far too tangled to weave any real answers. 


Sometimes,

I realize that I am holding onto the anger, 

As if it will protect me...

As if my nights that turn into mornings will suffice,

Instead of leaving me insatiable.