Words hurled
onto pages of pristine white,
not unlike chunks
foisted upon a receptacle of
cold gleaming porcelain
late at night,
sick with fever
and nauseous purgings
of what preys upon my brain.

A vomiting of ideas,
stream-spewed consciousness
raw and unfiltered…

Oh, wretch that I am!
How to heave a tidy
sanitized version
from the dregs of my mind
simply because
you say that I must?