I feel sick. Before I puked. Before I stopped pretending that I liked the way you taste. Before you held back my hair. Slowly tracing hearts and kisses down the back of my neck. Temptation starts to gnaw on your finger as they gently wipe the bile from my cracked lips. Whispering in my ear, "everything will be ok if you let it all out." So let it all out. Let it all out. Let it out now, let it out let it out. Before I could see straight. With no one's voice in my head but my own. Puking up pieces of you. I can say, I feel better now.