Regency Halls

Hangovers suck, and so does this really old poem I wrote.

risen in shadow perished by the half hour
in a groggy perpetual motion from glugging grog.
we were sitting by the open window
when the door blew shut
before we could open it.
fresher air consumed crusted blackened lungs
giving us power as if it were heavenly doing
upon an unheavenly being.
scrubbing away at the walls
where only a year ago
the others were trapped
they couldn't open the door
when the wind blew
and the smell of sick escaped out the window
into the 4pm shadow
and out of your 5 o'clock shadow