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TWELVE

Hole In Your Head - Ekoh

I used to pray to god. I stopped when I saw that kids were hurt in horrible ways every day, and he didn’t answer a single prayer.

So now I pray to toilets. Specifically, my toilet, with the loose lid on the right side.

I hurl into the porcelain throne again, gripping the sides until my knuckles burn. Fuck. This is the most passionate praying I’ve done in a while.

The toilet still listens better than god ever did.

Once I’ve stopped hurling long enough to down a nausea pill, I hang my head, frozen on the bathroom floor. It takes every ounce of concentration not to puke the pill up, too. Every time I want to, I dig my fingers into the ridges of the pill bottle, willing it to hurt bad enough to keep me distracted.

After about 30 minutes, I feel good enough to take another pill. After another 30, I feel less religious. Less religious and more exhausted.

Fuck. This is one hell of a hangover.

I drag myself to bed, shivering. Once there, I’m barely under the covers before I’m asleep again.