I was at that awkward moment between kissing a stranger,
and losing my keys.
Swaying in the bite infested grass,
an empty bottle slipping from limp fingers.
Maybe if I just started digging, I could find a bed.
Soft, wet dirt
cool bright winks from the sky.
If this was tomorrow, I'd be fine.
But its a school night,
and I'm painfully aware of the knots in the ground
and the dry nausea in the back of my aching head.
Like dropped paint cans.
The throbbing aftermath.
I can't fix this.