"puking" poems
She’s more fun when she is drunk
At least…until she’s not
Because she’s puking in the toilet
And regretting her last shot
She’s more confident when she’s drunk
Gorgeous and ready to score
Until she looks in a mirror
And feels even uglier than before
She likes herself more when she is drunk
Until that feeling goes away
When she is so far beyond gone
That her self-hatred comes out to play
She’s happier when she’s drunk
All her issues leave her brain
But they all come crashing back at once
And cause her so much pain
She likes the world more when drunk
It’s filled with so much good
Until one little thing sets her off
And she hates it all more than she should
She likes life more when she’s drunk
Her mind for once feels still
Terrified of losing that feeling
She soon wants to end things with a pill
But she can stop any time she wants
Or so she’d have you believe
Because alcohol makes her seem so happy
That is, until all her friends leave
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:21 AM UTC
In frames as large as rooms that face all ways
And block the ends of streets with giant loaves,
Screen graves with custard, cover slums with praise
Of motor-oil and cuts of salmon, shine
Perpetually these sharply-pictured groves
Of how life should be. High above the gutter
A silver knife sinks into golden butter,
A glass of milk stands in a meadow, and
Well-balanced families, in fine
Midsummer weather, owe their smiles, their cars,
Even their youth, to that small cube each hand
Stretches towards. These, and the deep armchairs
Aligned to cups at bedtime, radiant bars
(Gas or electric), quarter-profile cats
By slippers on warm mats,
Reflect none of the rained-on streets and squares
They dominate outdoors. Rather, they rise
Serenely to proclaim pure crust, pure foam,
Pure coldness to our live imperfect eyes
That stare beyond this world, where nothing's made
As new or washed quite clean, seeking the home
All such inhabit. There, dark raftered pubs
Are filled with white-clothed ones from tennis-clubs,
And the boy puking his heart out in the Gents
Just missed them, as the pensioner paid
A halfpenny more for Granny Graveclothes' Tea
To taste old age, and dying smokers sense
Walking towards them through some dappled park
As if on water that unfocused she
No match lit up, nor drag ever brought near,
Who now stands newly clear,
Smiling, and recognising, and going dark.
18k
claude: battles tabletop.
reaches for maple syrup, into breakfast,
& breaks down puking.
the girlfriend/abortion situation.
the cash
& cream corn.
smells of deeper spring.
grandma & her bible.
to pray.
to eat lunch.
to television &
honey blunt the relief of a sunday night.
lily: into decay.
into dark days of her america.
detox: she breathes on vapor. sweet leaf.
sweats the heat & dead-dreams off. off on wavelengths &
resonance::: sound therapeutics,
at 528.111 hz,
enhanced dream frequency. she falls
into bliss. into
unopened codons & the rigor
of vibrational analog.
love cassette.
achilles: wheelchair-bound & boning
still. gripping ***
the girl & couch.
the couch & modern warfare.
old warfare: harvest of limbs.
he crawls across the lawn to pick strawberries.
thumbs the dirt for entrance
to another world. smokes a jar
of roaches, as monument
to his second generation revival.
cool.
wallace: & the zebra jeep.
red rock monkeywrenched billboards & the ****** of flame upon milk factory.
chemical factory.
fertilizer bomb///return/
to town & grotto.
porch-light wood & breath of bong-rotation.
the babylon journeyman,
embroiled in plots against the order.
to simply disappear.
to portal away.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
This red dress-
I'm shocked that I forgot
And you remember well.
This red dress
Is me dancing like an idiot
And you acting like a fool.
This red dress
Is your arm around my waist
And your hand upon my thigh.
This red dress
Is trial
And triumph.
This red dress
Is both my high
And my low.
This red dress
Is you comforting me
When I was nothing.
This red dress
Is you stroking my hair
And I laughing too hard.
This red dress
Is me wishing that I
Was the only girl in the room.
This red dress
Is me puking on the floor,
Embarrassed and alone.
This red dress
Is you carrying me to bed
As I smile at you.
This red dress,
Is you and me.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
It's always hard to sleep on soccer night:
The drinking, the shouting,
The occasional puking stench
Reeking from the living room.
It's always hard to sleep on soccer night.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
Orange peel Thursdays and the Velcro shoes
Of children hordes
Who spider up Alice on toadstools in Central Park
Dusted psilocybin shoots my eyes through
With the clarity of ice and sliced mushroom
Steeping in stomach acid before finding blood
The kids are tripping like madmen or halloween candy
Like its time to release and give up to the nonsense
And let your young self congeal to a saccharine sludge
I don’t stroll in the park to keep my mind sharp
I’m here because it’s a riot
My head can throb to the jittery birds
And the blasts of carsong
It’s the right kind of rhythm to walk to
** ** **
Ketamine days and the lolling slums
To make sure the insane stay insane
And the hobos are washed with spit from the clouds
And the subway exhaust always hangs in our hair
And the old Coney Island burns again and twice more
We don’t pretend to understand what we see
In subway grates thirty feet wide
Like the earth punching out of work for a bit
Opening to you her *** belly
So you can check out the strips of metal inside
Before she slurps you down and with an esophageal squeeze
Shoots you through the turnstiles
The train squeals and grinds down our eyes
With thoughts as slow as ketamine
Makes room for schizophrenia in a conversation
We’re listening to ‘til sundown
** ** **
Years full of Brooklyn and the assorted pills
Makes offal fit for punks in name brand shoes
Squared off with police in the park
Being beaten for the fun of being beaten
Peacoat locals pass the days in supermarkets
And you grow up to the loony mumble
Of the woman who knows the boat
Moored at the end of the street
Mansion of the stray cat colony
You help her with her daily chore to feed them
Tabbies popping the pills of the homeless
And puking in tandem all over their house
Living off generous dying folk
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
eating and crying, eating and crying
puking and dying
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
Alcoholic bulimia.
Empty out your insides.
Hardly anything within you.
Still purge all of it out.
Leave a synthetic stomach As Barren as the lost at sea.
Puking until weakened by vicious dry heaves.
exhausted and now pleased
Tile rubbing raw the knees.
Alcoholic bulimia.
Put cold fingers down your throat. Alcoholic bulimia.
Laughing as one chokes.
Alcoholic bulimia.
Bronze hair in ***** soaked.
Put cold ******* fingers.
Down your cut up throat.
Put cold ******* fingers.
Down your cut up throat.
Put cold ******* fingers.
Down your cut up throat.
Alcoholic bulimia.
Alcoholic bulimia.
Finger nails cutting the asofogis.
Head in toilet stains with
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 8:19 AM UTC
*"so once again
you're creating artwork on your skin,
crying yourself to sleep
& puking every thing you eat?
welcome back, I've missed you."*
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
You need to pay a sin tax
for the way you talk smack,
calling me your property
your syntax is making me
over. the. hill.
I’m heels over head with
you
making me crazy
the way that you speak
your diction’s too weak.
“you’re so nice”
how boring, I choose more
elegant words
to describe your glory
I could write
a five-page double-spaced
essay about you
and get accepted to your ivy league
I could wrap my
arms around you
like ivy on stone
hang you up to dry
on the
clothesline
til you answer the
telephone
I could cling to
you
like static
on your sweater
you better
not
flick.me.off.
Hell, my poetry ain’t free
it’s about as free as
slaves
I have confines, rules
bats in caves
It costs me thoughts
and time
and frustration
costs me more than just greenbacks
and a vacaction.
you need to pay up
talk isn’t cheap
your words cost you
attention
even if
my love don’t cost a thing
I train you like a golden
retriever
you retrieve my orders
like a wide receiver
my language is figurative
but your actions are derivative
you’re confusing me
like
trigonometry
love triangles are not my thing.
our
l θve i ∫ a sin(x)
cos we go off on
tangents and don’t know where to
begin
first we’re infatuated
then we’re done
next we’re inebriated
then we have some fun
happens so fast
then we come together at last
This rollercoaster of emotion
has me puking again
I’m trying to calculate this algorithm
in my head.
its so complicated
I’ll need something else instead.
in this kaleidoscope
I see
many sides
of you and me
I spin it round to try to understand
all I see is a blur of colors
even when I hold your hand.
I wish I could see
the thoughts you hide
from me
I want to understand
you’re radioactive
your face is glowing
even in pitch black
your smile is showing
but, I never get to see
your eyes
make me crazy
hazy
they trip me up
and pull me down
periodically, you’re in your element
and everything clicks
then we stick and the chemistry’s quick
but then you open your mouth
garbage spurts out
I think it’s about time
I take you out
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
My last long distance relationship was with YaHWeH
And we’re on break
But when I can’t help myself
I drunk text him
Thumbs fumbling like they’ve forgotten
Keys I used to know with eyes closed
“Why do you give me emotions
If they are only going to be doubted?
Invalidated continuously?
What would it be like to feel something
Without being punished?
Prayer emoji, prayer emoji,
Cry emoji, upside down smile.”
And when the emotional puking is done
And I’ve resigned myself to silence
And acid green Listerine
The universe chimes
“One new message.”
Taking a deep breath,
Pushing down apprehension
And the nauseous excitement
Of a boy texting back
Read.
“They are not always thus.
Each time someone was there
In your corner,
Maybe not the most voices
Maybe not the loudest
But there.
You are the master of your destiny, Love
The master of your punishment
You do not have to feel punished
You are rejoice made flesh.”
Peaceful smile, peaceful smile
Kiss emoji.”
I pause, reading it once,
Then twice,
Swallowing then nodding
Keys now vaguely familiar.
“Sometimes I forget.
Shy emoji, shrug emoji,
Monkey covering eyes.”
“God is typing……”
“That is what I’m here for.”
Kiss emoji, smile emoji
Blushing beaming smile.”
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
Sly smile, slick man in a matching three piece suit,
sleight of hand, small coins.
Small and round, pink and smooth,
washed down with a whiskey burn.
Pop, pop, crunch, split.
And the come up...
Heart beating out of the tin cage
I had been trapped in my whole life, and now this--
Perfect moment, beautiful people,
laser lights, infinite energy.
Puking blood in the back bathroom.
Sheer happiness. Ecstasy.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC
breathe me in
swallow me like water you’ll never taste again,
like sap from a honeysuckle
keep me there, inside you
break me
contort your body so my bones shatter
and throw yourself to the ground so i cough up blood
make it hurt
but just remember the broken shards I leave behind will **** you
they will cut your insides and shorten your breath
and once this happens
when you’re doubled over in the bathroom
puking up the pills they gave you to make it go away,
i hope you regret it
i hope you wish you’d never breathed me in,
had never swallowed me
never let me trick you into thinking
i was actually something beautiful,
that i could actually save you again
you broke me once
and i wasn’t finished healing when you picked me back up again
i didn’t care if it would hurt
i wanted you to feel my pain
to feel all the pain,
and then nothing
to feel the pain and the agony and the hot tears streaming down your face like raindrops
to feel the aching in your chest that made it hard to breathe
and hear the monster in your head that made it hard to sleep
i wanted you to feel it all,
wishing it would go away
and then i wanted you to feel nothing
just as i had
i wanted you to feel the numbness spreading across your body like fog making a home in your bones
i wanted you to contemplate your existence
and wonder if any of it was real,
and wonder
why couldn’t you ******* feel anymore?
i wanted you to long for the pain again
i wanted you to hurt like i did
but most of all
i wanted you to regret it
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Handed a drink
Smells of grape
Clear strong liquids
Black plastic cup
***** robed priest
Fair Snow White
Queen of hearts
***** canteen Indian
Hollister tall guy
Jeremy Matt Jake
Beer pong games
Intense with time
3 hours later
Winners and losers
Rookies against all-stars
My big mouth
"Flip cup anyone?!"
Four on four
Too intense now
Every round played
Too much beer
Way too fast
Louder and louder
Crazier and crazier
Drink after drink
Chug faster chug
Lost count already
16? Or 23?
Not slowing yet
Out of mind
Last game now
One on one
No more beer
Liqueur in cups
Don't even kno
Tap down up
Chug chug chug
Flip cup once
Winner me winner
One more game
Asks a stranger
What's one more?
Okay I say
Lost this match
But that's okay
Leave the room
Pop a squat
Not a couch?
But it works
Spinning room spins
Blurry figures there
Not too sure
What's going on
Black out hard
Can't hear anything
Can't see anything
Every once-in-a-while
"Are you okay?"
I can't feel
I can't answer
Black out again
Lost in deep
Seas of waves
Awake for seconds
How did I
Get on the
Steps to upstairs?
People drag me
Up and up
Black out again
Black black black
Dark dark dark
Oceans of drunkenness
10 o'clock a.m.
Holy ******* ****
What is this?
A soft pillow?
A warm blanket?
Someone was nice
I look behind
Me and there's
3 strangers sleeping
Next to me
What's that smell?
Puke on my
Jeans and clothes
Pillow in puke
How do I
Not remember puking?
I do not
Remember a thing
After flip cup
Lay for a
Few more minutes
Gain enough balance
To sit up
I see Mary
In the hallway
"Liiisaaaa!!!
How are you?"
What the ****
I feel okay
Not bad actually
Until I stand
Make my way
Down the steps
Bathroom is trashed
Sink ripped off
Of the wall!!
Beer, bottles, shots
Everywhere ******* disaster
I feel fine
But the smells
Make me puke
Think, never again
******* crazy night
Stories of me
Retold to me
You went hard
You're so little
You drank alot
You played every
Single game of
Flip cup dude!
I saw you
With your head
In a bucket
Puking so hard
I couldn't leave
You like that
So me and
A few people
Dragged you upstairs
Hahaha thanks guys
Blah cupcake blah
Pizza ******* blah
Apple pie moonshine
Stale white bread
Memories kinda lost
Everyone had fun!
The ******* end
Till next time
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
EDNOS is:
confusion.
-starving for days,
then bingeing every day for a week.
-puking until you see blood,
because you failed yet again.
-starving again,
because you’re too fat to function.
-puking some more,
because you’re not strong enough.
EDNOS is:
manic.
-running for hours,
because running makes you thin.
-exercising in the early morning,
because every minute counts.
-constantly fidgeting,
because moving burns calories.
-counting calories like a pro,
because everything has to be exact.
-organizing everything,
because it calms you down.
EDNOS is:
horrible.
-pulling your head out of the toilet,
with tears running down your face and puke all over.
-fake smiling at everyone,
because no one would believe you if you were honest.
-your mind spinning 100miles/hour,
because demons control your thoughts.
-comparing yourself to everyone you see,
because you’re too fat to be a part of society.
-wanting to die every second,
because you’re not perfect.
EDNOS is:
me.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
I don't recall the moment responsibility grew arms hugging
with gnarled fingers, while burdened skies wrap like a promise,
with its soft tenor of lies and seduction.
Disowned, I remember the drunk old lady who hung
over my shoulders puking responsibility, as if to discharge
toxic waste on a pre-mature baby struggling in labor, while death
chokes the innocent, lost in love's knowledge.
She could have warned me, even better, ridiculed me rather
than put my head on a bludgeoned block allowing me to become
a scapegoat for all the past, present and future mistakes:
Some, of which was manufactured in threads of innuendo
by off-loaders.
These bones of mine are exposed in the twilight of their naked
prejudice, and 'I swear I could hear clouds' curse my name, chanting
wrath, creating chaos through veins of pride, before darkness
fell feasting off my flames.
There is nothing like hollow skeletons of the dead rustling
around in graveyards alone. I stopped to think despite efforts
of going solo; how I miss the stony silence of that skull, bent
with anger seeking solace from my venomous touch.
It would be a blessing to retreat into silent reveries
where I am alone, I am alive, the dead are no more, to wrestle
ghosts with words spoken into the heavens asking,
"is there enough forgiveness left for me?"
I don't want to remember her dead face, how it looked
when her neck snapped while life drained from her stiffened eyes.
I want the abstracts of my life to fit.
So, I howl upon her bitter pill - release me...
7/11/2012
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
“Who’s the lucky guy?” someone asks
“Their name’s Bea,” I reply
“I support that,” they hesitate
“You are so brave.” they add
I never saw their lips as a political statement
Nor did I think holding hands in the front seat
while a friend is puking by the side of the road
Was some kind of revolution
How romantic is it
That our story will be etched
Not in some Neruda poetry book
But a professor’s first textbook
Or a college student’s 2 am essay
When I said I was in love
You thought it meant I was hungry
Not for touch or for pleasure
But for justice and freedom
I didn’t know that
When I run my fingers down her neck
It would be tied to a long Twitter thread
I never saw my love as a battleground
A metaphysical exploration of sexuality
What’s Marxist about the way their eyes
disappear when they smile?
What’s so intersectional about
Our entanglement at the back seat
Or our hands holding in front
I never thought I would be so brave
At my most fragile state
So political
In my most dumbstruck ways
So woke
When I’m asleep in her embrace
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 6:54 PM UTC
Stress so bad
It's got you puking
And now you're losing your hair
What's this?
Didn't know stress could do that
Oh, now you're puking in the toilet again
Got another fever
What's this?
It feels like appendicitis
Didn't know stress could do that
How did you get yourself in this mess
You can't believe this
Should I spell it out for you
Because if I tell you what it is
You going to go insane
Because you know it's true
This doesn't happen to you
This isn't happening to you
What's this?
Crying and laughing at the same time
Turning around breaking things in anger
Falling on you're knees
Alone in your room
Curling up into a ball
Tearing up all day and night
Why are you laughing
You don't know why
You feel like you're brain is fried
Oh, now you're crying again
You don't sleep any more
You know this isn't right
What makes you think you should go against your gut this time
You promised you'd always listen
No exceptions
You're blind
You love him too much
It doesn't matter that he's been your friend for years too
You know this ain't right
You ******* know it
Now you're in denial
You've made every excuse for him
You answer his every whim
He's got you controlled in fear
You're afraid to lose him
So you listen to every crazy whim
Not doing yourself any favors
You ain't doing him any either
Children need to be taught
Wrong and right
No matter how old they are
Should you be ashamed?
Think you like it
In some twisted sense
You think you deserve it
Now you're doped up on Xanax
You had some wine too
So desperate
It's all you had
Want to be knocked out
Because it stops the thinking
To take away all the stress
You could barely breathe
Drinking with your meds
That aren't even yours
But now you need them
Because now you feel like fainting
When you think
Didn't know stress could do that
You think you like it
Hell no
You don't like it
But you convinced yourself otherwise
But in the end
That's still an excuse to protect him
What are you doing
So lost in those rare moments
Of what he used to be
Still is
Behind it all
That's him
Not this
It's a broken record
Same two songs over and over
It's a game for how long each side lasts
Pretty soon he'll hit you
You know this
You know it
That's why you just had a mental breakdown
'Cause you know what's next
Cause you're blind
You know the truth
You just don't want to look at it
I just want my sanity back
But I won't leave
Not without you
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
I hope you’re doing okay,
but from what I’ve heard,
I don’t think you’ll ever do well.
I heard you were wasted, puking
on *** that was shoplifted
by your friend. Your ***** smelled like
oranges and everyone took you home drunk
to your mom like it was their fault.
Because I remember when you were just cutting yourself
to escape the trauma of your mom beating you
and living with runaways. Your friends raised you,
but they’ve gone to college, and you’re left
with drunk driving drug dealing boyfriends
A couple summers ago you called me when
you lost your virginity in the bed of your
obsession’s truck and you thought you
would be pregnant and drank yourself
to sleep because you thought it was decent
birth control, even though he came on your back
didn’t see you for a couple of years and thought we lost touch
because we were broken down and giving up
and I thought if you could just find a place that didn’t
party or abuse their girlfriends that you could find
a place to be where you wouldn’t feel so numb
Way too long ago I remember stories of your friends
running away to Canada, being kidnapped
or arrested, sent to the emergency room
like when you tried to **** yourself over some boy
or because you hated your mom
or you thought you were too fat
when you’re trying to forget yourself
drinking cheap alcohol and skinny dipping
I hope that you won’t have to last as long
because you aren’t meant to be ******
intoxicated or depressed, when that’s
all you’ll ever do.
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 11:40 AM UTC
Fat, ugly, and unloved.
You need to go puke in the toilet.
Continue puking in the toilet, ugly *****
Because you really are not that slim.
Only drink coffee.
No food for you today.
Starving yourself everyday will for sure keep the fat away
Stupid ***** continue to excersise.
You must look perfect before you die.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
Sirens and drunk laughter
outside my window
burnt ciggerete butts
Empty cases
outside my window
no flowers grow
outside my window
only people peeing
outside my window
***** ***** **** traffic
no white fence
outside my window
a group of lowlifes
junkies and ********
outside my window
wouldn't mind seeing a garden
or a hot girl tanning
outside my window
Walk outside
****** and drunk person
puking
outside my window
moving soon moving soon moving soon
where ill see a backyard outside my window
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 1:48 AM UTC
Have you ever visited a public *********
When you were really bursting for a dung
And sadly found the only cubicle
Was vile and ill-prepared to meet your needs,
Its stench beyond your wildest nightmare dread?
And yet you bravely held your breath and looking
Down into the cracked, caked enamel bowl
Beheld a horrid, putrid panful there,
The likes of which you never dreamed you'd find
And live to tell the ******* tale to mortal man.
About a hundred people's lurking turds
All heaped and piled up to the very brim,
Some soft and runny, squashed down by the weight
Of countless others, some smudged with blood
Lying there like half-cooked hamburgers.
And there was barely ******* space in the pan
For you to add a steaming trio of your own
To the rancid, obscene horrors lurking there
As you crouched, puking, with your ******* round your ankles
Terrified in case they fell onto the piss-swamped floor.
And you noticed with your reeling senses
That there wasn't any ****** paper either,
Nor had there been for many a long day
Judging from the walls' awesome sorry state
All covered in ****** brown elevens. (SEE NOTE BELOW)
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
golfers riding mechanical bulls.
puking on street corners.
awkward cops. angry to boot.
***** fights. purple dresses. gold heels.
greasy cheesesteaks.
shuffle board AND bocce ball.
spirit'o'mericuh.
doritos. cool ranch AND nacho cheese.
white and black pin strip cardigans.
breast pumps or sound amplifiers?
****** indie.
photo booth bombs.
hot tea.
cheap whiskey.
expensive cocktails.
sticky icky danky green.
missed shows.
long lines.
wait.
remind me why im here again?
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC