Vomit

Am I vomiting? Or do I throw down instead of up. Singing with a sudden frown, In barf upon a promised gown. I wore it to prom as a virgin. I wore it on my wrist. A flower wrapped around the list, Of ankles cankled ‘neath a face unkissed. I’m a pimple. Pop me till I puke. Until the thrill of the up I chuck, Quacks like a drunken duck. Or high like the school? Drooling with the fellow mule. Assing through town unable to procreate. The father’s horse and mom’s whatever. Hybrids are for textbooks. Useless as the diploma. I forgot the words to the theorem, I forgot the words above them. Am I vomiting? Am I poeting? I threw down instead of up.