A sick confession

I have a confession, a truth to be told, A secret that I can now say. A fact of my life that I’ve always lived with, A secret I have hidden away. And that is that I binge every day, I fill till I’m full, till I bloat. Then, like clockwork, when I’m simply too full, It exits along my tarred throat. And I emit every colour of fruit and veg, I heave up all sorts of fresh meat. This purge occurs every day about noon, Then again at six, all over the street. There’s vans and trucks and cars and utes, They leave me empty by dark, But then they return the very next day, To me, their shopping car park.