It coughs up, viscous, and black.
Sticky, and reeking of rot.
Black tar, vestiges you injected into my bloodstream.
I barely notice it's there, I don't bother to keep track.
It's clogs my insides, like a blood clot.
It seeps from the pores. I'm trying to spit it out.
I'm in detox. I have the coldchills, and hallucinations.
Trying to reject it, but it's deep. Throughout.
I drank poison and now I spit venom.
They say a woman's heart is made of gossamer and lace.
Then why is mine made of patched canvas and frayed denim?
:::Edit:::
I figure this post might need some context. Which I feel weird about, since I usually delve these deeper thoughts into my private Diary as opposed to my public blog.
Tonight, I discovered some of the remnants of long-term emotional manipulation and abuse. I'm working through it, but it's difficult. So many years I was lead to believe certain things are "Normal" or, I'm not allowed to do or feel certain things. When in truth, I AM allowed to feel. I am allowed to "Do."
I'm learning, and truthfully. It DOES feel like I'm spitting up black tar. Every so often this thick, disgusting, phlegm-like, viscous glob of shit just pukes up, and I have to try and clean it up. When I do? It stains my clothes and hands.
It's upsetting, and extremely frustrating that I'm still dealing with this trauma almost a year after I cut him out of my life.
