Hiding in the subtle itch
Of tired tendrils tucked away
My mind's a treadmill
Slumping in repetition.

Background vibrancies nibble at earlobes
Twisting my earrings
I blink into daylight to find
The same five songs
Playing for days.

My lips are dry but I continue to lick them
Continue to move and reach and thrive
In confusion of the day
In question of the time.

I'm pulling down Christmas lights
Looking for presents in every bottle
With names that mean nothing to me.
Christmas near July.

I stole this poem from a drunk girl
Or maybe I was the drunk girl who stole the poem.
Then again,
Ego shattered ownership, isn't half bad.

Because I am night and day and dawn
There is no dusk in me time
I stole the sober girls identity
She took my morality.

I wake up with her words
And a half imprint of remembrance
Tattooed in shanty inks
On the back of my hand.

I push through the prescriptions
And dialated eyes
For something to wet my lips
Burn my lungs,
And mute to my mind
What the girl the night before
Has sung.

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