The Little Brown House on the Hill

A night out

When the sun streams through the window
I wake up from this crazy life
No recollection
What happened?

I gather the details from those around me
But they themselves cannot recall
Empty bags and inkless pens
Scatter the floor
The room looks like a diabetic lives here

My head is spinning faster
The effects have yet to fade
And yet no damage is done
As we drive home
Our cigarettes hanging out the window

Reviews

[Roger Ferguson II]

great imagery, good voice, well written

[Marie Harrison]

If only the walls could tell.
Loved your poem

[Hannah Paige]

Empty bags and inkless pens... great image

Our cigarettes hanging out the window... This is a really great way to end this poem, it's sort of a twist and makes you think

[Brad]

whoah, it's as if you've channelled a little kerouac/plath here...excellent read