You are vomit at three in the morning.
Inevitable. Repulsive. Pathetic.
Bending over the toilet bowl
for a lack of a backbone
to hold yourself up.
Or a lack of will. Or both.
Purge more, like the lady you are.
Of course, I'm trying to listen
but your spew of words
spill from your mouth
and that chunk by your lips
is distracting. You're disgusting.
How you handle driving a knife
through my back
while lying on the tiles
is perhaps your only talent.
Keep purging, sweetheart.
I'll never wipe your face again.