A prompt that I took a jab at for my writing circle.
When your alarm screamed for attention, you had no eyelids.
The world, as is, today then.
Your head hangs, gallows low, in a staring contest
with the shower drain, puddles and gutters.
Tongue a sloven slurry of lukewarm paper mache,
staining your teeth with your own, rotting opinions.
Legions of soldiers, side by side, on their backs
in your veins, what a waste of a war.
No blinking, now, or you’ll miss it.
Every face in the street, just like the one,
who used the juices of your core,
to cleanse their palate.