The swirling room I'm in.
Dizzy is how it is.
I cannot tell left from right,
Up from down... etc
Maybe a dose of sleep
Will cure this frustrating concurrence.
Soda and crackers.
Wrap me in fuzzy blankets.
Let me lie down on the couch
While I watch reruns.
Then I'll think back on my childhood.
And then I'll miss those times.
Then I'll think back on my childhood
When I gagged on my mozzarella sticks in elementary.
"What's wrong?" The boy had asked at lunch.
"I don't feel well," I replied.
Which then I was fiercely grabbed by the arm
And the teacher had taken me to the nurse.
And I upchucked whatever was left in my stomach
Right in front of the janitor.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
"You're fine," he mumbled back.
Those memories
That make me nauseous
Just thinking about it.
The storm's comin,
But not from outside.
It's in my stomach
And I'd rather die.
