hangover

Now the curtains have fallen,
Woe suffuses the atmosphere.
Sweep the broken pieces of what is left of me
and scatter them in the wind.
I recall the snake-like moves under the lilac lights.
I wallow in my private paradise of yellow-winged butterflies.
Thoughts flood the barren desolation of a soul in thrall.
I nimbly swallow up the idle hours of the night,
longing to spiral down into the depths of healing slumber
and to emerge unscathed from the searing wanting that scorches and
consumes and leaves nothing but cinders,
the burning pain that lingers
within.