Hole where I used to have a Soul

A desperate foraging for a misplaced soul.

         Eyes barely split open.
         Caked with scab-like dryness.
         Pulsating head.
         My sight ended up rendering to me a censored world. Through my raw irritated red eyelids, they literally felt like crusted openings swollen shut. A derelict badge of bad decisions. Something that people will just ignore to my face to judge me later.
         Dehydration rolled down the pink inert folds of my brain.
         I sat up to realize I'm in a mess of crooked sheets, a blanket curled up in the far corner right beside broken glass.
         Chaos had brought all this mischief! An uninvited guest, upsetting the entire room it was most sadly the case.
         My mouth smacked open with the taste of tobacco and a phantom of rum. It almost called me to puke.
         Gathering loose thoughts into consciousness. The clock on the wall told me it was six to eleven, that I was in a shabby motel room and as usual, I was alone.
         With enormous effort I stumbled, placed one foot carefully forward one after the other toward the window. I raked the curtains wide, fabric bunched inside each of my nerve-wracked fists.
         I found the glow of city night in my view. The black of night and a voracious fog were battling streetlights. A tussle that lit a gold fire beneath the swallowed city.
         With my wits just about gathered into consciousness, I abruptly came to the spine-chilling cognizance of a hole where my soul used to dwell!
         Gradually it came over me. A tidal wave of my own sewage crashed down upon me.
         A bleeding hole famished to be filled. Hunger unlike I could have ever fathomed.
         A need for something real. The thirst of something true felt unquenchable.
         She was the one, the keeper of my faith in life. Now she's gone.
         I was still there, without a soul. Nursing such a voracious hole. In need of something real, at least true.