the purging

by Mike

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.

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