morning

my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. someone is stroking my head.

morning morning morning ok ok. I have to go to work fuck can you, uh. Fuck uh.

I smile small. My stomach heaves.

I need a piss, I'm late.

He is cheery, gathers his things, his face a moon, mesmerised, grateful? I watch him leaving out the window. Don't look back don't look back. He looks back, cheshire cat cream getting thankful waving. 

I look in the mirror, she looks back. Can't hold her gaze. The tap offers no solace, every morning that cunt infects me with suicidal thoughts, in its silent judgement. I do not look at the shower, its dry sarcasm from lack of use is unbearable.

I shove down painkillers, drink pints of water from a cracked glass, find something mimicking clean from the shitpile on the floor and run for the bus. The sky is shimmering with my dying braincells. 

Tonight when I come home I will see that I left the door wide open again, and a note. Thank for a great night, you are amazing. Topher.

Ah that's his name.