this (every) night.

it could be the chardonnay, you know,
glowing it's piss pale yellow through fingerprinted glass
causing me to roll over in the sheets now
hours later, my head pounding.
i turn the tv on and the picture jumps
but the volume is too loud in this silent house.
click back to darkness, the kind so black
you can't see your hand right in front of your face.
it's three-thiry in the morning and
i can't help but think, goddamn, not this again.