My Home

Today, I pulled the sickness from my body through my mouth.

I pulled and pulled with both hands until every tentacle of tar, black with death had left my inhabitation.

The cravats of my soul had a new awkward blood flowing through the tissue,

and my organs once ensnared found new movement.

My heart.

My precious, precious heart.

My foundation.

I pulled and pulled.

My body began feeling vacant. Light.

New absences to be filled only with healing.

I must be persistent and mindful,

never to be occupied again by this resident.

I kept pulling the tar.

Barbed sticky tar.

I kept pulling until my body said, “Enough! There is no more.”

Exhale.

I looked at the tar pooled at my feat. Damnation.

A false reflection.

Lies.

No longer with me as its gracious host, the pool of darkness, turned to smoke.

I opened the windows.

Fresh air.

This is my home.