The Real Hangover
I am here.
Only to escape the shouting inside.
With a pounding head, an angry liver, and a spinning world,
It's really all I can do.
I lay down hard in the cool grass,
The sharp blades poke my hot skin harshly.
I recall the expectations and let-downs of the night,
What I can remember of them, anyway.
An oblivious ant scurries across the mountain of my arm,
I don’t feel enough to care.
I close my eyes, shutting out the sunshine,
trying to forget the pain behind them.
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