Posted in Canada, Poetry, Prose

My Head Hurt

My memory failed me
as I stood up, I fell
not being able to keep
my balance,

Around my feet
were empty bottles of
Pinot Noir
their gaping mouths
not being able to speak
anymore,

I dared not
look behind me
on the bed, of which
I now sat

A funny feeling
came over me, as if
I had been here before
at least in her imagination
of all places,

“Are you coming back to bed?”
a voice beckoned, with an idea of French in it,
my mind tried to remember, where
I had heard it before
or if, I should feign amnesia
starting

Yesterday…..

Advertisements

Author:

My profile might reflect who I am, what I think and why I write what I do. My profile might just reveal the inner workings of a deranged mind, a helpless soul, and a self-destructive way of living. Don't worry. I'm OK. I've just lost sight of my little sister in the evening clouds....

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s