The memory of substance

The pavement smells of morning frost
And probably dog piss…  
Although, it could be mine
With an ants eye view the moss in the cracks is beautiful.
This is where I wake up.

With the memory of substance

There’s blood on the ground,
Red on the grey on the green.
There’s blood in my eye
Like the scum in a milk glass
Except not so white.
This is where I wake up.

With the memory of substance.

I see myself in the bottle.
Lying like me,
Once sought after and now empty and cracked.
Smelling like the suspect stains on my shirt.
Must have dropped it on the way down here.
Must have lost it on the way down here,
From the top of the stairs
My head hurts.
This is where I wake up
Still here.

This is where I wake up with no memory

My head hurts.
I must have flies in there,
I hear the buzzing.
The deafness in one ear
The one I listen with.
This is where I wake up,
In a dark place, tears in my eyes hands on my face.
I can hear me screaming.


With music playing
Over and over again.
Sounds like sirens
Calling me
Back to the memory of substance.