literature

Vomiting

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Literature Text

I swallow to keep myself from vomiting at the scent of food which has for some reason lost its appeal. My nausea is overwhelming the part of me that usually overwhelms and behind the curtain that I pull in front of me is an ever so exhausted member of the human movie genre drama, an exaggerated Pinnochio like nose that never lied and, oh here comes the nausea again.

When I finally cave in and lurch forth I feel my lunch come forth along with breakfast, brunch I'm getting thinner and suddenly stop to shield my eyes so my light capturing pupils don't do their dirty work. I jerk back and forth more or less I'm shaking, I'm the cadaver busting out on the dance floor with my new move rigor mortis, beware I've only displayed it two times and that was on a double dare, I was told its so tight its considered unfair.

Projectile type not the type you get when you stick your finger down your throat, more like what you'd expect being sea sick three thousand hours holding it down at sea riding on the greatest damn cruise ship type thing that floats. I swear in slow motion you could see it turn corners to hit every little piece of furniture in my line of future telling incisive sight. I swear that frame by frame you would only want more frames to track the incredible explosion from my gut that often leads to furthered disgust, remind me why I wanted to swallow it because the next minute I'm embracing all the puke the snacks desert, sherbert, recycled, stop to reassert.

Too late, its all over the place how can I stand this self disgrace, embrace, don't lose face. Crazier I become the story of my life, not a single night, deny everything and self denial, I'm invincible, I'll never blush again says the legendary Gin.
A mixture of events, connecting the dots of the unconscious nausea.
© 2006 - 2024 ginseng
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