Instead of a destructive, emotional implosion,
I expunge the remaining sadness.
I lie gazing at the brown, stained ceiling,
dirty paint chips peeling in random splotches;
Fan blades amalgamate the blood spatter
its expression a swirling, spiraling strawberry cone.
Unplanned, I purge and laugh hysterically
at life’s misfortunes. I’ve missed my jiggling belly,
smiling, and happiness, and so I meditate:
my essence is everlasting and intact; it will be okay.