.JPG)
Hangovers
The insides of my stomach
Are a bubbling
Bubonic
Scattered
Mess
Of precious toxins
Which my blood
Clings to
Like a jilted lover
Who insists on
Clinging
To an abusive
Relationship
Long after
Anything good
Or pure
Or simple
Has been extracted
Leaving only the
Final, foul dregs
Of what was
My body
Convulses
In a spasmic
Rhythm
To cleanse itself
No such luck
You won’t get off that easily
These are the
Consequences
Of loaning today’s
Happiness yesterday
Which seemed like
Such a good idea
Until
The bill was due.
Plus interest.
