2/28/2022

February ended and I vomited up all the bad things I took in.

Crust on fried pickles and cigarette smoke—
often consumed together, one thing leads to another.

There were old hairs from the brush I left next to the sink,
left on the kitchen table.

Things can be disgusting when you live alone,
no one worries too much about the dust in the corners and the folder up blankets on the couch.

I vomited until nothing came out, the correct way to do it.

Gargled with water
and tucked myself into bed.

The angels danced outside my windows and I tried to will them
away, but it
really is like Ome said:

Angels watch o’er you til morning dawn.

3/7/2022