purge.

I could take you like a pill, exceed the recommended dosage, keep going until I’m on the floor and need my stomach pumped to get you completely out of me. 
I come home with a sore throat and a burnt taste on my tongue, resolve replacing anxiety.
Then I miss you and need you, and you’re back in my pocket and in my mouth again and I can’t stop.
They know me in the ER now.  My throat is mutating to accommodate the tube. 

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