Hangovers are epitaphs
echoing the short life
of a Saturday Night.
Death
cuts it's way
through dark matter,
as the sun creeps
over apartment buildings.
Fingertips slip
from upholstery.
Dilated eyes
are coined,
left with blank
contemplation.
Remorse simmered
for poison wasted,
potency alongside carbonation
are defused
in a drug smudged glass.
The hangover lingers
with Visine tears
dripping onto desks.
Focus fizzles,
debates
it's purpose.
As the epitaph
continues
head and stomach sink
with that blunt feeling
resting in the dirt.
Memories of bar joviality
crunch at the edges
like leaves swirling
over Saturday Night's
freshly lain grave.
Silver trophy winner
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