But Once, Years Ago

You are the taste of vomit
on the back of my tongue;

the peculiar sour sting
I must gag upon

as I go through life,
choked to be constantly reminded

that I am all of nauseousness,
that I make you sick,

that I disgust you.
You told me this but once,

years ago,
but I have never since

been able to spit it up
or swallow it down.

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Talk back to me. Trust me; I'm listening.

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