BILE

Bile.

Bile rises sometimes... from the innards that you took for granted. At the mess.

You rage. You fight against it coming out. You hate yourself for the mass of acidic sick erupting from your bowels, shooting out of your mouth. But you say it. You go ahead and throw the sickness at the world and revel in the pleasure of numbness inside your mouth.


And then you see a little girl playing in the gutters. The girl has pushed her arms through a polythene packet's handles, and the packet balloons out behind her... the illusion it gives.... it looks like wings. White wings.

And the girl's happy.

And all is well again. You go from place to place, stumble from block to block and falsely smile.

You tell people you adore how much you adore them, and then they tell you you look hurt.

What have I done, my sweetest friend???


Its all a mess, I tell them. All a lie. A big sham, and its just the beginning.

And someone looks over, from high and low, from all sides, including the inside, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles some more, because thats all there is to it.

You save the bile inside that smile. And one day it erupts with a little whimper of pain, and then it gushes.