I had a plate of sadness for breakfast,
I had it with a glass of tears
Early, at six in the morning.
I chewed it throughly
Just like how I was taught in childhood
And swallowed it slowly.
I could hear my stomach protest to this,
The hate and rejection I had for dinner
Late at night was still undigested
In my stomach,
And my early breakfast
Wasn’t taken well.
My stomach growled and protested
And I could sense a sort of
Reverse peristalsis happening inside me.
Suddenly everything I had gulped down
Rushed back to my throat.
And it tasted something like overcooked depression,
Stubborn and rebellious to go down.
I could feel my oesophagus convulsing
Struggling to keep my words in it’s place.
They weren’t coming out nor going in,
So I just had another glass of tears,
Then they all went down
Leaving behind a metallic taste in my mouth
And a stench in my breath,
And then I went to bed
Like nothing happened
Like I was alright.
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