Thirst

The atmosphere in this room is so thick

it's probably more conscious of the situation than I am.

I'm swimming through this smoke, floating above the alcohol

stained rugs sprawled throughout this home.

The evening peaked hours ago, the revelry now died down

to a dull throb, the pulse of heavy music steadily f*****g thin walls.

Deep bass threads its way through the strands of smoke,

sinking its fingers into my cup,

rattling liquor against my teeth. 

The air is heavy, dragging the dim lighting into the yellowed linoleum. 

Amalgamations of limbs crowd the shadowed corners --

those waiting to f**k or those too fucked to do so.

The resonant buzz behind the back of my skull

moves its way to my lips, to the tip of my tongue.

With this comes numbness, the driving force behind

this staggering level of inebriation. 

The music tears me apart with throbbing fingers,

disintegrating me into another tendril of smoke,

a whiff of liquor stained sentiment,

a complacent cushion on a thrift store sofa

waiting for the morning to spit painful light into my eyes.