Memory Foam

Orchestra of alarm clocks

One after another blasting morning into my head

Sunlight the bloodstains of a currently unconscious moon

I’d fold fog over into my bed sheets every night if I knew I’d get a few more minutes to myself

Drift in drift out

Snooze button

9:05.

Friday night like the starving child guzzling down Mr. Jackson’s dirty green soup from my wallet

Thirsty for the attention lipstick brings,

Wearing shame on thick thighs like smeared popsicles on sizzling sidewalks.

I am too old for this anymore

Twenty-two old wearing sweats and doing homework and making art crying into chardonnay

Not the kind that requires gold bond or polident.

I feel like my carbon is better than yours but really we all came from the same goddamn stardust

Sunday morning rain clipping the outside pane of my windows

Reminding me of pains in my chest,

Heart full of drops of blood lining up like twelve little girls in two straight lines

Madeline style.

That was supposed to be my name, anyway.

Saturday morning sloppy seconds

No one wants Chinese food like the gremlins in my fists

Begging me to fight for it.

It has been a long almost billion seconds and I am ready for whatever is next.

Wednesday afternoon sighs of relief

hump day miracles like Cheeto Cheesus or tortilla shaped like Mother Mary,

Never ending agony,

Someone put me back in my place.