Blackout Drunk Poem by hunter blackstone
Blackout Drunk
Gray anxiety.
Fight or flight hits me, but I seem to be alone here.
This is not my bed.
I loathe myself.
I cannot think, I cannot breathe.
His clothes, my clothes
lay guilty on the floor.
Who am I becoming? ?
I want a drink.
This is not who I am.
Then 'he' brings me coffee and says, 'morning angel' like he knows me.
I do not know his name.
I want to disappear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 2:41:27 PM # 1.0.0.1119
