We are sitting on your floor smoking cigarettes
You ask me how my day has been
I ash my cigarette and say
In the most casual way
“I’ve thrown up seven times today”
You ask if I’m contagious
I feel my throat let out a laugh
That is half pride
Half shame
You barely know my name
And I’m already chasing you away
Because I’m too sick to hide my pain
But not sick enough to let you know how it feels
To speak in a language of violent expulsion
Where syllables etched in the fibers of food
Link together to spell out words
in toilet water
And these words sink into messages that tell me that
I’m doing the right thing
The necessary thing
And that this is the only way for me
To speak.