Worshipping tile and porcelain...

Poetry in the midst of drunkenness and sobriety.

The build up of saliva in your mouth, your muscles weaken and your legs tremble. Chasing the time you’re about to throw up. Standing on the side of your feet just to remain balanced. So high off of happiness you have no where to go but down to the darkness and slumber. Seems like a kaleidoscope under your eyelids. The capillaries in your eyes dancing to the music. The loud pound of the bass through your head thinking about where is the comfort room where the holy porcelain and tile lie. You kneel down where you’re actually rolling forward.

Smell the flower. Puke some more.
Look for water. Puke some more.
Wipe your shoe. You never knew…
where you were. Puke some more

Ever felt like your stomach rolls into a ball like an armadillo? Cautiously looking to the left and to the right waiting for that moment where you feel fine, even for a second.

That deep breath, waiting.
That odor out of mouth, drifting.
That dinner you ate, sinking.
That light bulb above, illuminating.

My brain is like being bitten by tiny ants. Like being punched by boxers. My upper back felt heavier than my back pack when I was grade 5.

This is me not making sense again. MY HEAD HURTS.