sunday lunch

acid scrapes at my throat, undulating in my pulsing stomach. every pore on my skin throbs with sweat, with panic, with disgust. eyes blurred by vertigo, nausea rocking my body with the violence and passion of a wave crashing against a rowboat. a river of vomit rips out of my mouth, splashing onto the pavement.  delightful. just what I needed. the chicken from Sunday lunch, now a mangled mess on the ground beneath me, had obviously gone off. I had even won the fucking wishbone and everything. such luck. a fresh wave of spittle, acid, snot and tears, flew out of me from their respective exits. light and sound throbbed against my senses, ricocheting against my skull with each blink of my dribbling eyes. today is not my day.