Hungover

I clench on a plastic bag like it'll fly away if I don't,
my face peers into it like a merciful pit of nothingness,
a beautiful void where I'm no longer the person I once knew,
one that refuses to pull me deeper than I've already fallen,
even if the best days of my life are when I can't think about you.

My head spinning harder than it does when I'm overthinking,
I'm heaving because I'd rather my chest hurts than my heart,
because it's been years and I still run,
and I'd rather see the room spin than let my legs give up.

I'm drowning in all these bottles laid out on the floor with me,
but it feels like it shouldn't take this long to feel better.
I'll let each glass take me one step closer,
even if I'm letting myself go, too.