Repeat

A Poem by Iris X

Not a very ordinary poem, but I hope it gives you the feeling it gives me.

A late Sunday morning I wake up and I feel the very well known lump in my throat. I take a look around the room and I realize the air is still a bit smoky from last nights joints, and I smell the bitter vodka which is poured all over the floor. I don't start wondering where I am or what I did last night. Because I know. I know. So damn well. It's the same routine every single day; wake up usually somewhat between 1 and 2 pm - eat the rest of the takeaway from last night - drink the rest of the beers from last night - get completely wasted - get high as a goddamn kite - order takeaway and finish only half of it - go to sleep as I am very tired by now. Repeat. I don't know more or less. I don't know right or wrong. I don't feel what the next door neighbor feels. I can't.