Hungover Poem by Jennifer Rosario

I woke up in a pasture of empty beer cans
and glass bottles that cut every time
I pressed my mouth against the grain.
I arose from wilting flowers of dreams
and the leftover thorns of lost love.
My head pounds like a chisel against concrete slabs.
My mouth thirsts for deliverance from its arid wasteland.
My tongue cuts into poacher's hands with the force of cactus spines.
My mind stretches to remember the short nights
and long slumbers that defied the morning.
My memory desires to forget
skin tattoos lined with old memories.
My toilet stained lips curse every drop
of sweet sugary liquid.
I'm hung over
the balcony
starring
at fields of beer caps and face cards.
There's nothing exciting about hating yourself
when the sun is still shining
when the birds are still calling.
There's nothing fascinating about missing life
while you are still awake
while you are still alive.
There's nothing good about being paralyzed
by your thoughts,
by your decisions.
There's nothing wrong in being different
facing life,
facing it as it should be
There's nothing wrong in owning up
to wanting

to wanting something more.