Sour

Is the taste of my bile. I hug the porcelain bowl, body heavy, anchored to the tile. My throat burns and no honey here to hold my head up while my stomach churns. The fever won’t quit It’s lonely and painful. I pass out and I drown in my own vomit.    

A bit Offbeat

Hey, doctor I feel a little bit off kilter. A tad off my beat. The rhythm I once walked to hasn’t moved my feet. I’m feeling a bit confused and think I need to take a seat. I’m ready to give up now, swallow my pain and defeat.