The nightcap wears off.
My faded world comes in clear.
Pressed fingers tight to my temple,
help to steady the shipwrecked thoughts.
I see black spots, like blackened pieces of a once finely stitched tapestry.
Unsteady limbs claw at the heavy stench,
tipping then spilling a cup once full.
Behind stormy eyelids, lighting cracks through.
Maddening thoughts spawn, slimming the mind.
Mutant feelings bubble, distilled
ready to bottle.
If this scene had a soundtrack, the chords would howl.
The melodious truth could liquefy our yesterday smiles.
Sudden smacks from the bass come to rustle my withered petals.
Tragedy comes in many pauses.
Reach for your collar, and choke the nonsense.
Don't forget to kick the footstool,
hang the little man, guess the right letter
...it's a vowel.
The smog of the gin, has long passed.
What is left, a hammering build.
The cup once full was my solace.
Solace smells a lot like *****.
From the bottom, I smile upward
To the new day, I flip the *******
and linger back to black.
A poem using all these words I was given at random
-pressed, pause, mutant, cup, hill, collar, eyelids, stormy, cap, footstool, petal, death, blackened, shipwrecked, chords
I was going for dark, it lead me to a tale of a massive hangover.