Codshit.

The boy pushes out vomit onto the floor of the bath,
watches it splatter over the white porcelain
mixing with the water running off his doubled body.
The vomit looks like lentils in olive oil.
It comes up easy.
He turns, lets the pokey jets fill his mouth with warm water,
diluting the bile on his tonsils.
The boy spouts it directly at the vomit to make it scatter further.
The music in the clammy, adolescent, springtime air is a kind reminder of the previous night.
As if he is in some kind of music video,
the boy closes his eyes and
lets his neck creak backwards,
so the water wets his aching desert hair and pressurised skull
as the kick drum walks in.
The boy tries to decide whether to eat something or bring up more oily lentil vomit.
A coat of images superimpose over
A happy swarm.
He stays in the shower for another thirty minutes,
only gets out when the cassette stops playing.
Chewing gum and peppermint tea, feel the goo melt warmish.
Feel your brain go soft.