Sick
My stomach turns slowly,
It’s contents moving about,
becoming saturated
In the acid that climbs into
My throat, burning like liquor.
Sweat beads squeeze out
Of my pores as I am suddenly
Uncomfortably warm,
The waves of wetness slick
My skin despite attempts
to continually wipe it dry.
My mouth fills with saliva
As the nausea intensifies,
And I try to comfort myself
By rocking back and forth
And whispering calming words
Into the dark, empty room.
Copyright © Katie Telling | Year Posted 2019
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