Hour One: Hangover.

I started pretty late into Hour One, but here it goes, this poem is called Hangover:


I split my brain into haves and have-nots,

ushered in faux light from between the blinds,

resisted the image and the text back, when you say words you don’t mean,

when you’re caught in a stream of bad romantics.

I am caught in a stream touching someone else but thinking of you,

as my mind clutters and buzzes like my liver and my lips,

I dismiss every attempt to persuade you, this was the demon of my prayer to get into the kingdom.

I wake up once more and I’m shot and regretting every attempt I didn’t mean,

because you’re still not here and my head hurts.

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