sometimes i think my poetry is way too cryptic, then i realize how cocky that sounds, and also that's it's poetry. you decide.

--

That feeling that falls:
In your stomach when you breathe it
In, salty-sour.
On your cheeks when the
Taste and the pain sting
Your eyes, and you try to
Cough it up; it went down
The wrong pipe.
On the ground, because the
Acid you’re expelling burns
The same way coming
Up as it did going down.
On your ears as the
Surrounding public hisses and
Chuckles at your embarrassing
Show of weakness.

Almost enough to make you stop;
Always enough to make you scream.
Dull rules of conduct which result
In too-long, bitter new conflict.