Labor Day

Published in Twisted Ink Webzine ~ Spring 2010

I don’t remember the conversation – must be from a blend of various substances all of which were likely abused in excess – I’m sure I said what I shouldn’t have – that’s what tequila does to me – tears down barriers – vague recollections I wish I didn’t remember – sentimental words making out in the street possibly even karaoke – eyes gaze at the ceiling & wonder why it’s red the wall is actually the blanket that I’m face down against – smoke tints remain in a cotton mouth desperately in need of water – no doubt the aftertaste is from a nicotine craving that exists when the drunken haze sets in – maybe mom smoked while she carried me – at this point it doesn’t matter – I hope no one has pictures like last time – drunken debaucheries are supposed to be vague recollections – the phone ringing shatters my skull grope towards the sound eyes closed as if that actually helps the pain – it’s my brother – I must have called him last night – now he is exacting his revenge at 6:00 AM on the morning after – vindictive bastard – snarled greetings & laughter as a result – sink back into oblivion – dream about a time when you don’t drown ur sorrows in liquid & smoke rings.

© Kaitlin Ens

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