the ice that filled your blood the first time you made her cry

the time an infant fiercely gripped your finger in her perfect fist

the moment before the doctor speaks when his sad eyes have already told you everything

the night she drowned you in a tidal wave of exquisite back-arching white-hot fellatio

quivering above an unfamiliar toilet bowl, cold air against clammy skin, your mind performing dizzying camera tricks as you vomit up that one drink too many

lying awake while she whimpers in her sleep and wishing you could join her in the dream to make things better

salt and sunburn and the gritty sound of sand between your teeth as an angry roaring wall of water looms above you

the night you buried your face between her breasts and warmed her skin with unexplainable tears

tiny sections of time which curl into memories

A.M.

You wake up groggy, your mouth tasting of vodka, beer and vomit. The sun light streaming through the half-curtained window is bright, and as it hits your sore, dry eyeballs it feels as though they are being seared with a branding iron. You turn your head from the source of the displeasure, and are rewarded with waves of nausea.

going to spew not going to spew don't move don't breathe too hard get some air in my lungs don't think about it don't swallow

Your mouth is dry and as you try to swallow you gag on the acrid taste of old cigarettes and alcohol. Your hair stinks, you're coated in a film of sweat and filth, and you're going to die if you don't get some water soon.

what the fuck happened i can't remember getting home this is my home right okay did i spew in bed nope that's good what went wrong we were just having a few at the local then we went to that other bar then we went to that club and

There are vague ideas cowering at the corner of your brain, tiny sections of time afraid to turn into memories

oh god i didn't kiss him did i please don't tell me that i said that to her face i didn't dance on the table and sing 'the gambler' at karaoke

as the still-life portraits of people and things and places from last night refuse to merge into one big picture, a messy mosaic of laughter, alcohol and being in the wrong mind state at the wrong time.

the curse of the hungover

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