Sinking

It was a blue room,
dimly lit, the smell
of urea lingered in the air.
A celebrity posing on a calendar,
blue bikini and bottles of rum.
She did not smile.

In this room,
where the ceiling hung too low,
men served drinks
mixed high in tall pitchers.
Friendly, clouded eyes,
a reverberating, loud,
deeply unsettling banter--
They joked, and I laughed.

I laughed and I drank and I laughed.

In a lucid daze,
it was a happy way home.
A worldly satisfaction,
all the universe's embrace,
comforting, soothing--
Into the bedsheets
I sank, deep, deep,
deeper into sleep--

Then the Manic dreams.
A drowning.