I’m sending you my doctor’s bill
You are the army of protozoa that battles in my guts.
Your arrows pierce the insides of my organs, and
grenades blow up my heart.
You are the reason that I have gastroesophagal problems-
the walls of my stomach are swollen from
the indigestion we call love, and
my esophagus is inflamed
because I keep trying to purge my feelings
My heartbreak halfway down my throat
you halfway down the toilet
but once you’re flushed I require more
and heaven forbid I go hungry.
Here is my appointment with the porcelain god
at 3am when my brain’s overdone it on thoughts of you.
You’re a colony of protozoa sliding through my Wernicke’s area
All I can do is stutter, praying for dissociative amnesia
as my brain groans with the onset of encephalitis