The Weather and Her Hangover

Oh my,
I wanted so
to craft you a sunrise,
but the weather had 
a bad hangover 
and just didn't feel up for it
so she rained all day.
And in the aftermath,
the concrete
looked slimy and unforgiving
like the stare 
he thrust at me
after I screamed 
at him
in my wrathful dragon's tongue
that night
he grabbed the pretty girl at the bar
with the red skirt on
who didn't want to 
be taken 
but he took her anyway
and I felt her heartstrings break
even from three streets away. 

What was I saying?
Oh yes, 
the rain kept coming down
and we took our mouths
out for a walk in it,
held our faces 
to the sky
until we almost drowned 
in her stormy wake
but it felt good
like the high you get 
when you get your eyebrow pierced,
pain and pleasure 
and those strange days 
in which 
I felt addicted to the toxic,
the dead weight lovers,
my drunken stumbles
in high heeled lace up boots
seven blocks 
back to my car 
in the middle of the night
because I had fucked you 
but didn't want to stay
though you wanted me to,
I sneaked out as you slept,
and my friends called me 
when the daylight came, 
told me I was acting
odd and dangerous,
but I huffed 
off those worry words,
refused to explain 
the craving to die
before I had to lose 
my brother 
to cancer
that took him
three years later,
kept adding poison
to my coffee in the morning
after he was gone
and mourning the loss
of reality and sanity
who fucked off
for a time
because they were bored
with my sad stories 
that I had told
too many times.

Then one day
in September,
I awoke 
and could see angels again
sitting at the foot of my bed,
and I noticed
the trees whispering 
to me again,
the lilies happy in the sunlight,
the owls 
chattering to each other,
enjoyed the snow falling soft,
friends with smiling faces,
tea and scones
tasted delicious once more,
and I knew 
things were getting better
and I laughed 
out loud for the
first time in a year and a half,
and it echoed
back up to the 
dark cloud cover. 

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