Poetry

The Morning After

By Wallace - 24 February 08

sun streaming through this open window
with the light hurting such tender eyes
weak from pains I can't even describe
I heave myself out of bed and go
to pull the shade

squinting, I jerk the window blind down
when my bared right arm swims into view
stains cover it in assorted hue
some are dark, almost black; others brown
dried; some spots fade

frozen in my tracks, let me think back
where was I last night? I can't recall
damn this dull ache throbbing in my skull
blotting out all faculty to grasp
a simple thought

pivot to return to my soft bed
where I can close these lids, rest some more
likely another stupid dream...sure
makes a great deal more sense to my head
than all of this

the weird scene before my eyes surprise
can't begin to detail what they meet
what they see, shock won't even compete
the floor, walls, sheets...nothing could describe
let me go blind

now, I remember, I realize
what occurred from the previous night
now, one thought pervades and stays this time
swirling, sickening inside my mind:
I wish that I
had died instead