Feverish Night

As the bile starts to rise
from the pits of my dismay,
I can hear the distant cries,
an echo of my overlay.

Reaching for a hand
only to be held by my own,
I can feel each gland
as I sit there all alone

clutching to my stomach
with tight grips around my shirt.
My pulse is almost rhythmic
with the tune of my hurt.

Struggling to hold down
the spread of this acidic mesh,
I gaze upon my frown
as I rise above my flesh.

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