the nausea comes over me still.
when i’m leaning over the sink.
as i sit down in my room typing nonsense.
and drawing pictures of nothing, and nobody.
it washes over me, threatening to come spewing out.
but it doesn’t. and i keep doing what i’m doing.
it comes out my fingers, it comes out my throat.
it spreads like a virus into my computer,
smears like
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