morning

Eyes on me watching my every move.
Studying my every shake.
Left over and vibrating.
The muscle relaxant and half bottle of C.C. wasn’t the calm I anticipated.
No escape as I tremble my way through the travails of the microwave.
Stupid fucking machine.
Can’t stop the shaking.
Feel like passing out.
Not the drunk kind of pass out, moreover like a sick person missing meds.
I fumble through the drawers like a junky searching for a needle.
Shaking withdrawal.
Nerves dropping to the floor into pools of vomit.
The staring ever so present and terrifying persistent glare.
Can’t open the can.
Can’t start the fucking microwave.
Life falls into pools of nerve vomit.
I give up finally on fighting with the microwave.
She opens the can of tomato juice for me to mix with my beer.
I need to get my back to the world.
I lower my head with lack of dignity into pools of vomit,
then drink my morning beer.