Upon Waking: In Tribute to Life Water

Eyes thrust open. Something in my hand. A phone, check the time – I’ve missed all my classes today. Shoes still on. No blanket over me or my dog, who sits whimpering at me, and I start to wonder- what happened last night? How did I get here?
The water of life.
My knuckle is cracked open. Little beads of oxygenated blood cling the parted lips of the open sore. Somebody may have gotten punched last night.
Last night, at the bar, I had made sure that everyone knew about her and that she’s dangerous.
Why do we give them the power to wreck our minds, livers, souls? With one lie, a temple is brought to ruin.
The little black Buddha on the floor, by the bed, near the crushed beer cans and dirty socks that reek like cat piss; he is a reminder of the bliss of perfection mixed up and entangled with the tortured, half-remembered chaos of the mysterious night before.
So up now! Arise! The one thing constant in my life, my whimpering dog who remains faithful to me even after all the world will have left me weeping or cursing -he, he grows old.
And the bag of dog food on the floor, beneath the desk, is empty now.
I’ve got to make him healthy, home-made food.
The kind of shit with no preservatives or trans-fats or intestine meat, food like she used to make me.
And so, maybe she did love me.
But I cannot dwell upon the whispers of ghosts. One of the beers at the foot of the Buddha is still half full! And there’s too much fun to be had in the present to shut it up like a coffin under soil from the past.