Poisoned
I ate the poison apple. I ate the whole fucking thing. The funny part is it even tasted poison. If you want to know what poison tastes like, imagine the smell of a dead body and put that smell on your taste buds. But I ate it because I fucking paid for it.
And then I laid on my tiny dusty bathroom floor and waited for my prince charming to kiss me, break the spell, and fix the pain from the poison shit I ate.
Only, that kiss tasted like puke. It tasted like pure bile and cheap poison beer-battered fish. And it didn’t help a fucking thing.
I ordered beer battered fish from a local restaurant on an unassuming Sunday afternoon. It came out in 2 pieces in the shapes of giant triangles. The gooey batter peeled away from the fish as I tore it open and the tartar sauce was full of curdled lumps. It tasted like a dead fucking body and I ate it. What the fuck was I thinking?
I walked into the door of our apartment and made a beeline for the bedroom. My voice trailed behind me “I just need a little nap I think”. I felt like I had been zapped in a microwave science box. Every ounce of energy was gone. Half an hour later, I woke up and my stomach was an inflated balloon. Every muscle in my body ached. Here, here for my entire body coursing with intense pain.
I turned on the faucet and dumped handfuls of Epsom salt into the filling tub. I…
