Hole where I used to have a Soul

         Eyes barely split open. Caked with scablike dryness. Pulsating head. I ended up rendering a censured world through awkward slits, crusted openings encased in a derelict badge of swollenness.

         Dehydration rolled down the pink inert folds of my brain.

         I sat up to realize I'm in a mess of crooked sheets, a blanket curled up in the far corner right besides broken glass.

         Chaos had brought its mischief! Uninvited guest, most sadly evident.

         My mouth slaps together with the taste of tobacco and a phantom of rum, narrowly called me to puke. Gathering loose thoughts into consciousness. The clock on the wall told me it was six to eleven, that I was in a shabby motel room and as usual, I was alone.

         I stumbled to the window. Raked the curtains wide, fabric bunched inside my nerve-wracked fist.

         I found the glow of city night in my view. The black of night and a voracious fog were battling streetlights. A roe that lit a gold fire beneath a swallowed city.

         With my wits just about gathered into consciousness, I abruptly came to the spine-chilling cognizance of a hole where my soul use to dwell! Gradually it came over me. A title wave of my own sewage crashed down upon me. A bleeding hole famished to be filled. Hunger like I could have ever fathomed.

         A need for something real. The thirst of something true felt unquenchable. She was the one, the keeper of my faith in life. Now she's gone.

         I was still there, without a soul. Nursing such a voracious hole. In need of something real, at least true.