My knees quaver and buckle as I fall to the floor.
With one hand I pull my hair back out of my face
And with the other I clutch my gut, for fear
That it might fall out at any second.
My head swims over a porcelain throne;
Home sweet home.
A sharp pain shoots throw my torso;
It feels like I just had intensive surgery
And the surgeon forgot to remove the scalpel
Before sowing me back up.
Of course I shouldn’t be so melodramatic,
I do this on a daily basis after all.
The only thing I’m really scared of
Is what might come out.
I mean bile and blood
Is nothing new.
No, what I am afraid of
Is much worse.
I mean just the other day
I hawked up five or six razor blades.
Let me tell you I was downing
Pepto like it was Drano that night.
Some days are better than others.
Sometimes all I’ll hurl
Is a handful of aspirin.
On one rare occasion I pulled out a rope;
Yes, a goddamn rope!
That thing felt like it went on for miles.
Every once and a while a few bullets
end up getting tossed up.
But then again who hasn’t thought
About doing that?
Booze comes up a lot
And condoms too,
As disconcerting as that is.
How do you think I feel?
As the proverbial saying goes,
“You are your own worst enemy.”
Isn’t that the god awful truth?
Thoughts and actions go hand in hand.
I’m no saint, I don’t claim to be
And anyone who does needs
To get a new mirror and look again.
One piece of advice I can
Give you is that it feels
Better coming up then
It ever does going down.