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.