Tuesday, 4 March 2008
I can see a road in front of me or a pavement. At the end of the road is a bakery which I want to get to. I feel as though I can't move though as I want to be powerfully sick. There is hot thick acid inside my gut. It feels like it is bubbling. The taste at the back of my throat is like rancid cottage cheese with pineapple. There are many colours to the throaty wash of vomit that I can feel inside me. Bread would be dissolved by the acid, there is no point in getting there. I crumple to the ground. On the ground my stomach feels even more full of frothy sickly congestant. My guts are a mesh of fibrous biliant. My mind is awash with a tide of stinking illness, putrid and pouring pulses of puke. Massive chunks of scalding vomit are pushing their horrific exit through my now infected throat and mouth. A pillar of shining vomit erupts powerfully from me, pushing me backward and caking the pavement with my organic filth.