Image by janusz l via FlickrI hate the sunrise.
I hate how that hot disco ball
brings the party crashing down.
That sudden loss of youthful inhibition;
that the dawning of the day brings
to the August rush of late, late night revelery.
I hate those first puckered lips of light that pout
so voluptuously that rays follow across the sky
like so many lost love notes.
I hate how the light bends and cracks the heavens like a sad
aging whore, caked on makeup rolling off of it into purple clouds in the mornings sickle handed embrace, killing all darkness.
Leaving nothing but light and memories.
I hate the sunrise.