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.