Hangover…don’t shout

My head doesn’t belong
It’s an object
On top of me
Full of low-level pain

Somewhere underneath
Like a child behind a sofa
I’m in the room
But not fully

Up before dawn
Sleep is the language
Of a foreign land
Parts of me are dormant

Black coffee
With brown sugar…
…I can’t see colours
My eyes are closed

Speech is on hold
Thought is slowed
In my subterranean self
All is calm