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-


another chug of toxic heaven,

and another cheers for his bottled self.

Alhex Adrea M. Peralta

A cooperation of the few


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