Another hangover on a sunny Sunday.
I wake up dead
and crawl out of bed, crawl
to the nearest water source,
a fountain of life,
and drink like a man who was just saved
from hell.

In hell, there’s no water,
but there are fountains you can drink from,
fountains of spirits that do not quench your thirst,
but dehydrate you instead
and dry up every stream of thought that once flowed
in your head.