The heat of the winter sun envelops me,
And the bile rises in my stomach.
The lethargic smell of pills and bile and blood,
Comes flooding back again with the rising cud.
I remember each of the hundred and fifty pills,
That I stuffed down my throat.
Carefully combined in the most potent combination,
After days of research with the most serious intention.
I remember the shock of the aftermath,
The food I couldn't eat and the water I couldn't drink.
The regurgitation of friendly medicines each time,
The wind pipe gone pulpy as I pretend to be fine.
He thinks he is the only one,
Whose friends warn him to never return.
Alas if he knew that when I was saved from the face of death,
I promised another I wouldn't see him till my dying breath.
I am a fool, yes I am,
For loving him so.
He will always find excuses not to come back to me,
For his ego will never accept my sincere apology.
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