Girls Night Out

Sun through a crack in the curtains stings my eyes.

Dried mascara is like tar I struggle to blink them awake.

I am in a bed under white sheets, pillows cradle my sore head.

Arms stretched to the length of the bed, toes to the far corners.

Martini glasses line the dresser, some empty and some not quite.

Sun shines through the alcohol like its a small ocean, casting small rainbows.

My mouth is glued shut with thirst.

Vocal chords sore from evident overuse that I can’t recall.

The pillow next to me smeared the same color as the lipstick I wore last night.

Sheets that share a likeness in their softness envelop my body.

My hair is damp and tangled beneath my head that is too heavy to lift.

The lingering drowsiness blurs the room into a watercolor painting.

Muffled conversations through a door in words I recognize but cannot comprehend.

The blankets that rest on my bare skin feel like needles to my sesitive flesh.

Spanish words my ears strain to hear as I shift under my covers.

The posts of my pearl earrings digging into the skin behind my ears.

The door handle turns with hushed voices.

A sudden recollection of the night prior halts my breath.

The man at the bar who so kindly bought me a drink.

My house, only blocks away, I refused escort to.

Wet blood on my face and in my hair after being hit.

City lights fading through a dark car window, the word Mexico.

Locked doors and ropes on my limbs, hands everywhere.

My fake ID barely visible on the far side of the room from where I lay.