my stupid, drunk face

I awaken to pain
the room slowly tips and spins
my pants are off
I’m in my own bed, at least

I call to my roommate
“Jane,” I say, “why does my face hurt?”
she answers from the other room
“Because you’re a drunk asshole!”
maybe I am

Jane enters the doorframe
stands, hands on hips
a small mirror in her hand
I groan, “I don’t remember
anything after I switched to vodka”

she shakes her head
approaches, thrusts out the mirror
my face is a mess
a scraping wound by my eye
a smaller gash on my chin
my ear lobe is bloody

I look down, then
my hands, my knees
more wounds
like I was dragged behind a car
but I probably just fell
on my stupid, drunk face

“What happened?” I ask Jane
“You fell,” she says, “on your
stupid, drunk face.”
I guessed correctly
“I didn’t sleep until 6 a.m.
because I had to tend your wounds.”

I apologize
I’m sorry for falling
I’m sorry for being an asshole
I’m sorry for bleeding

“Do you remember crying?”
she asks
I am glad that I do not

this is the second time
vodka has assaulted me
this month
left me wounded and wailing
I would say I’m quitting the drink
but I’m not
and I won’t lie to myself
about that

Published by bernardsbarnes

Writer. Artist. Performer. A little boy dreaming of the stars.

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