spews sickness like a fountain.
There was never a time I wasn't
ill -- draped over a toilet like
a sopping wet tablecloth, muscles
flickering red. Lovesick, heartsick,
hungover as fuck sick,
heavy bodies colliding in our
bathroom universe. I watched you piss;
you held my sagging skull up by
greasy strands of hair, Medusa's
open-mouthed, white-lipped crown
hanging limp over the bowl. You
watched me crumble like a puzzle
pushed inward by some dirt-caked
toddler with bulldozer hands
as I rose and fell apart again. Again --
it's time to move on.
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