Morning Aftermath

Waking up slowly, a stranger’s breath near,

remnants of laughter still hanging like fear.

A half-empty bottle, label torn in my grasp,

I search for my shoes, caught in last night’s clasp.

Echoes of whispers, soft kisses and sighs,

a weight on my chest, this morning despise.

What once felt so thrilling now tastes bittersweet,

as I sift through the wreckage, my heart skips a beat.

Did I trade something sacred for joy that won’t last?

This morning’s a hangover, the die has been cast.