Withering Tip

I will vomit, straight and true, into that toilet. I know I can, and I shall make it so. How did I get here? What is that stain? My god MAN! Look at that. I may be bleeding?, I can’t tell. I can tell you this: I don’t feel so good. Jesus Christ, last night seems like it was so long ago, I have only glimpses of the facts, a pool table, a Chocolate Face, ABBA, impressive amounts of drinking, what is wrong with these people!!? What is that? I heave one or two more times, I wait, I dangle my face over the water, head nearly entirely ensconced in porcelain, and wait for another heave. Will it come? Sweet Jesus, I can not do this anymore. Promises are whispered into the filthy bowl, incomprehensible mutterings as fingers are crossed somewhere behind my back. This is all the fault of that wicked woman, I curse her now, I speak her name into the fetid cloud of stench that surrounds my face in the toilet. I say her name three times, three times exactly, then extricate myself from the bowl, I lean back arching my neck, try to touch the back of my head between my shoulder blades, and let out a hearty laugh – HA! Then I flush the toilet, and with the contents of the bowl go the canon of warm feelings I have ever had for her. Swirling, I watch it all disappear. I stare for a few minutes even after the toilet refills with clear, clean water, trying to calculate just what it is that I witnessed there. Fuck it! I think, and almost  immediately afterwords I think Damn Her.   Damn her straight to Hell. I suddenly feel slight stirrings of hunger. I need something. I need something bland, something cheesy, something greasy and maybe salty. This reminds me of someone I met recently .. Do I have her number nearby? Jesus, God : What was her name? I use the wall to guide me back to my room, my bedroom, I lean against the wall as I walk back to my room, I push against the wall, I hold myself upright as I step step step my way back to my nest of warmth. I feel sick, and I feel like I want to eat hashbrowns and scrambled eggs with cheese. Maybe I just want to go back to sleep? To sleep would be gorgeousness made flesh. To sleep would be a narcotic dream. To sleep would be multiple orgasms. Maybe I just need a nap?