Streetlight Misery

Streetlights hanging above like low-hung
stars. Dim reflections of gold ink spills
on black parchment. Steps like harsh whispers
against asphalt. Whiskey-tinted breath masked
a mauled apart heart. Obnoxious car horns,
dismayed shouts muffled, cut off by the walls
of buildings looming like past mistakes.
An empty future, barren past.
Turn down a dark path, travel down
a side street. Restricted and manacled, everything is closing
in the alley.
Smells of trash
like you.
You're nothing, but abandoned garbage.

A head pounding hard
as a war drum. Nausea boils
in the bowels like witch's brew. Bile,
hot as acid, rises in the throat.
Head ascends from the comforts of
a pillow and the world is rocking like
a ship out to see on the reeking waters
of a hangover. The previous night's adventures
are a dark mass of alcohol and broken-hearted
laments to the stoic silhouette of a bartender.
Blades of streetlight shine through,
cutting into burning retinas.
But she is still a shadow of the past.
She snatched your sun, leaving you in a
medieval torture of darkness and blight.
Like Rapunzel with her hair hacked away,
she's forever out of touch.