Through the Sickness

 I open my mouth and vomit all the pain sickening my heart.
and it spills across your feet in bile of bitterness and chunks of despair.
I try to make out your face amidst the salt water welling up in my eyes.
Searching out the features that make you, you.
It isn't the modern, non-corporate hippy hair,
and it's not the rugged lumberjack beard.

No, it is the creases of worry in your forehead.
A single drop springs forth from my eyes and runs.
It runs from my eyes the same way I have run from yours.
Darting downward, leaving traces of itself as it blends with the flesh near the bottom.

My throat burns with the scent of the reflection of my heart.
Hands tremble and the end of my fragile arms as I flail weakly before you.
Again I spew out a recollection of once held highly views, testifying of my poisoned state.
My chin quivers and my body shakes, as what I had partaken of is rejected from my body.

The temple pounds as I try and recall where things went wrong.
I look up from the floor and your stained garb, knowing that I have clothed you in filth.
You didn't deserve this.I was the one to was given something other than real bread.
I'm the one that didn't have enough sense to spit it out.
I am the one foolish enough to get sick.

My skin burns like a fever with a memory to match,
and the cool of your hand is more than I could ask.
The fathomability of your persistence and concern for me is beyond my limits.
My stomach turns again thinking of the place I am.
I blink away the tears to see a look of compassion accentuated by the deep laugh lines of your eyes
Your smile, bent in a way that that speaks to me.
Over my groans and pains I think I heard you
I swear I heard you.

This too will pass.

As my cheek presses flat against the tile floor
you offer a reassuring hand on my shoulder,
And I am grateful for a friend.