Mourning Rage

Wincing in the morning light,
pouring through half-closed blinds,
bathing naked bodies, the smell of smoke
and alcohol sting her nose.

Aching between her legs;
a knot in her gut…
unopened condoms stuck to her feet,
limping ‘round history.

Crusted blood ‘cross her cheek,
water stings with every drink.
shuffling to the bathroom,
her mind plays a recital.

Half emptied bottles and broken glass,
cracked furniture and graffitied walls,
doors hung open and toilets overflow.

Butane torches and spoons,
glass and blades covered in snow;
clues to the mysteries of the night.

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