You Are Not My Friend

Enveloped in cotton I fidget
revolving in my sheets,
stabs of light piercing the venetian blinds.
Bemused by last night’s journey home.

My core nauseous
from spent pleasure
and shame
from the night before.

I was there,
in full force.
Regaling unfamiliar ears
with the same stories.

I don’t care for this shame
that haunts me now,
as I toss and turn
In my alco-sweat dampened sheets.

I care for the life
I lived yesterday
surrounded by all
-partakers and confidents.

Cranial pressure building,
my head pulsates.
My tongue dry
tainted by last night’s social poison.

My mind halts
stewed in inertia.

Tequila,
you are not my friend.

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