HE ARRIVED at his doorstep
a few hours before sunrise,
and expected no less than
blinding rays.
Saturdays meant
bloodshot eyes and an upset appetite,
from what remained
of the burning alcohol,
that, like him,
needed a place to stay–
a body to corrupt.
He welcomed the sunrise,
now, a pale orb of white.
The spirits dried out,
much like his own,
and a headache greeted him
while his stomach rumbled.
He would only smile.
For him, it was another shot
to drown in his sweet resentment-
overindulge,
another chug of toxic heaven,
and another cheers for his bottled self.
Alhex Adrea M. Peralta
