Blood Red Blanket

The room is still empty.

After the liquid poison that induces laughter and blissful wavering amnesia.

After pointless talk, over pointless connection, over pointless stories.

The drugs always wear off.

The identity is always lost.

The connection always flees.

A blanket always seems to be thrown over my head discombobulating me, 

leaving me dumbfounded and confused.

A once founded road, aimlessly and confidently looked forward to, is instantaneously lost and eerie. 

A blanket woven from blood red thread.

Its fluffy and heavy. 

It so quickly engulfs my ears, isolating everything that was once anything.

Covering me in hollow warmth filled with shame.

There I stand.

Night after night.

Caught in the endless loop of discovering, losing, re-discovering, and losing once more.

In the middle of a desolate road.

smothered in a red blanket.