When the mind completely shuts down to the bare necessities
Your lungs, just managing to inflate and deflate
Lying, unconscious, in the recovery position
praying that you don’t swallow your tongue.
And then the convulsions begin.
Like a penguin feeding its child, except the carpet of your room shares no genetic relationship,
You regurgitate your £30 meal, slowly, slowly
squeezing it out like icing from a tube.
Lumps of meat, masticated vegetables, and the liquid solution of red, white and mixed vodka
It’s a deadly cocktail of inebriation.
Eyes are slits, nostrils caked in vomit and mucus
Your lungs still just managing to inflate and deflate.
One is afraid of vomit, the other calmly panics, the third has their hand in your paralysed mouth removing last nights pork from the back of your throat, the wires of your braces.
And then we wait.
We’ve passed the stage of fatigue, and entered the realm of the nocturnal.
Banal movies play to keep us awake, and every few minutes we call your name, warm you up, make sure you’re breathing
So vulnerable. Like the precious daffodils your brought to say sorry.
Just waiting to unfold, to blossom, yet already poisoning those young, green stalks of your future.
The sun had risen.
Our bellies played a competition – whose could rumble the loudest.
And then you awoke. Your hair was mated with sick, but you said you were fine.
At last, we returned you to the safety of your bed.
But you have no idea how worried, frustrated and saddened, hurt we were.
So vulnerable, yet so precious.
That poison filtering through your veins into your brain
Dulling the potential, marring the value and the beauty
Inebriated in a cocoon.
The only boundaries that seem to hold you.