Night Two with the Stomach Flu
Dry heaves. Why me?
“Here try these.” Back on my knees.
Thoughts of death come rushing in.
“Will this ever stop?” Can’t see the end.
Begging, praying, pleading.
My body is retreating.
Every bite, every sip.
All substance abandons ship.
Waiting, sleeping, breathing.
Contentment is still fleeting.
Can’t sit. Can’t stand.
Now crawling, a shell of a man.
1AM: more heaves start.
Rookie mistake: “Never trust a fart.”
Long shower. Back in bed.
Constant pounding in my head.
Back up… a couple times.
On the cold tile with the dirt and grime.
No thoughts, only writing.
No peace, only fighting.
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