My friend's ear is my kitchen sink of stainless steel
where I puke, bitter words pushing up like acid
on my esophagus, rushing past the throat
full of indigestible vocabulary others made me eat.
I use it as my toilet bowl to defecate on,
when spasms and cramps contract my abdomen,
my bowels unable to halt fluid like secretion
crashing against the white-glazed porcelain.
My friend knows when to press the lever down
on the pop-up drain, to clear himself of all my stains.
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