Ribbons: A Random Assortment of Poetry

A Hangover

My mind pumps red and

I feel each pulse of blood

Stagger the back of my head 

And when I woke up this morning

I balanced myself with a chair cross-eyed

Holding on in horror as the house around me

Spun with the rhythm of my equilibrium  

And I shook achingly my way to the kitchen

To pour myself a cup of coffee just to stand over

Acute stupidly basking in the morning light

Watching a couple of birds through the window 

And then self-medicated the dull pain

My head made when it moved

Thanks to three peach-colored pills

That broke down quickly in me  

And after I sat by the counter

I wondered if I was an asshole

The night before but the only

Memory I had showed me hitting the floor 

And in the reflection my toaster showed

My face glossily seeping in pore oil

While my eyes puffed swollen and red

Like I had been crying for two months