Purge

purge

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.

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