Vomit I don’t know what is worst

The smell of it or the look of it

Its texture, its color, the way one gags and body convolutes just to get it out

Most will stay far away from it in fear that they too may engage in this behavior

It is my vomit I returned too

I said I wouldn’t have anything else to do with it

But I came back to it

Was it my will or my intentions?

 I believe the dumbest person can answer this correctly

Who returns to a death defying stench unless instructed to

Maybe some but surely not me

It gets into my nails

All over my hands, how repulsed and violated I feel when it, I touch it

My eyes begin to water as I wipe it with my hands, and my hair

It gets on my jeans, and oozes through to my knees

I wipe and scrub with all my might and then I hear in the distance

“I knew all along this would happen”

So I turned around and wiped the vomit on to my thighs

Surprised at her position and her posture

Well see I didn’t tell her I was returning to it until a couple of days after it set there

I wondered how long she stood there

How much of my humiliation did she watch?

If she could see pass my decision to return long enough to extend a hand

Maybe she didn’t want to get her hands dirty, didn’t want to hold my hair out of my face

She had a rag in hand but she held it tight

I began to gag again and this time tears fall from my eyes because of the sickness that her posture brings me

I thought she loved me enough to understand the mess I had made

I expected her to say if cleaning this mess made me happy she was willing to endure the clean up with me

I hoped she would say I’m with you vomit and all and I will be here if you have to clean this mess up again

But that’s not what she said

She didn’t want to deal with the pain the clean up would bring

So she turned and said “I rather walk away then deal with this mess you’ve made, I may make the clean up worse then it already is, in fact the thought of this makes me feel as though I might vomit.”