One last time.

Mind spinning,
toxan blasting my blood,
body moving on its own.

The thought of the morning,
stayed still,
the headache,
the sickness,
is it worth it?

Too late.

One... two... three shots,
mind leaving.

Four... five... six shots,
things becoming great.

Seven... eight shots,
laying next to an unknown man
bodies tangle as we enjoy.

Morning sheads it's rays,
pounding head,
blocks the events,
this man next to me,
who is he?

Where am I?

Jumping up,
dressing quickly,
dashing out the door.

Body aching,
head pounding,
falling into my own bed.

Four weeks past,
monthly monster missed.

My 14 year old body,
carrying life,
that man,
that night,
Should I let this baby live?

Mind twisting as my morning food visits again.

No.

I am not ready,
good bye druken child.