Fallen steps and shredded jeans

Fallen steps and shredded jeans,

knees bleeding stories no one asked for.

The stairwell’s carpet caught my shame,

a ragged witness pressed to bruised skin.

Voices blurred, faces spun —

too many strangers, too loud a night.

One last drink to chase the edges

of what I didn’t want to remember.

I tasted loss between the floorboards,

tasted how far I’d fallen,

tasted the shame that sticks to skin.

Morning woke me slow,

with a tongue swollen like regret

and knees that couldn’t lie.