Throb.

you in the loo,

your body throbs and your muscles quake and you are twenty, barely shy of twenty one. Your face is paile and you kannot sea wear ewe goh. Fever en sues. Wat iz diss iey stumble to dee bahthrume. The inhilations do not come and go with ease. Blood fights its way to your fingertips with rapiers, arguing through arteries ohh noh. Not thaat. pleas kno.

Cigarette poisoning. Carbon monoxide asphyxiation. Eventual death. Fetus complications. Lack of circulation. The surgeon general does not recommend my stupidity.

As I bow to the porcelain god I begin to understand.