Keeping his mouth’s pain level in mind, he put more hot sauce on the chicken
Its deep red color promising pleasure mixed with the pain
Cramming a huge bite into his mouth, he felt his hair begin to seat
Knowing his stomach would be further wrecked with the moonshine chaser that followed.
Being sick is always sucky, especially when it’s your stomach and intestines
Listing there aimlessly, hoping for the internal torment to subside
And yet all you can do is moan and hope for a break in your condition
How many times can you count the bathroom tiles?
Focusing on the food was what gave him pleasure
Every morsel perfectly prepared and consummately seasoned
At the moment he could think of nothing better existing in the universe
So why was his stomach still an echo chamber of empty rumbles?
The fact the meal in question was just an old magazine spread and he had no money
Looking at her plate, she wondered how she had gotten here
Under the fluorescent yellow liquid cheese, a treasure trove of textures and flavors existed
Now her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the excavation ahead
Crunching a loaded tortilla chip, her tastebuds danced to the symphony of tastes
Hefting her beer and taking a swig, she smiled loving her little bit of heaven
Coming up to the edge and looking down
Leaves her feeling butterflies in the stomach and light headed
It makes her feel like she could fly if she just had faith and took that last step.
Focusing on that feeling, she makes her decision and closes her eyes, allowing herself to drop
Falling backward, she lands on a pillow of grass, happy with her choice
Cup of her liquid wakeup was held close to her nose
Olfactory sensors lit up her brain with anticipation
Followed with her stomach preparing for the scalding acidic onslaught
Fluid of the darkest black splashed and sloshed along her tongue
Everything in her mouth screamed as the heat seared her taste buds
Except she considered that her wakeup alarm symphony. The day could now begin.
Chewing through the textures dancing in my mouth
Reveling in the amount of noise that escapes my piehole
Until everything Is broken down into the mush my stomach desires
Necessitating another bite of that audio and physical harmony
Chomping down on another symphony of mastication
Hope there are many encores!
Image: irepo.primecp.com/2016/11/307530/Crispy-Crunchy-Fried-Chicken_ExtraLarge1000_ID-1965314.jpg?v=1965314
Popping his shirt in victory
Regaling his opponent with trash talk
It would make most people sick to their stomach
Doing it to his twelve-year-old son, well that was over the top
Extreme hubris was his specialty, and this was his teaching moment
Image: cra-basketball.co.uk/basketball-images/basketball-tile-surface.jpg
So all this preponderance of togetherness made Pete practically sick to his poor stomach
Pushing people away was what Pete was professional at
Leave him in a group of pleasantly participating people
It was doomed to pyrotechnics and pointless pugilism
Then he would peace out, professing he had to pee.
Image: d2725vydq9j3xi.cloudfront.net/production/media/lawyer_schwartz/images/contract_tearing.2e16d0ba.fill-1140×400.jpg
Venomous words spewed with intense malice
It made the whole encounter even more toxic
Leaving me looking for the exit
Lo, there was no exit to be found
As I was cut off by more vile miscreants
It made me sick to my stomach
Now just because I had poisoned their water supply…
Image: farm9.staticflickr.com/8557/29777065100_20fd4a4346_b.jpg
Stories and photos from Scotland
A paper-cut survivor
Abdi Mohammed
The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
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Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
Things I love, typically with people I love. Will likely be hiking, baking, and doing other things that make me happy.
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Never Short On Words 