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Is it wrong to love
An aftertaste
Of ugliness?

She wonders as her fingers
Crawl down the flesh
In her throat

It is warm
It is soft
She hates it
And
She loves it too

There's no helping
Feeling disgusting
As everything she ate that day is
Regurgitated

The sourness is
Satisfying
Still encrusting her throat

Now she feels
Lighter
Now she feels
Better

The ugliness she ingested
Is gone

She flushes it away
Knowing that now
He might look at her
In a way that is somewhat
Loving
Or
Close to attraction

So the aftertaste of ugliness
That lines her throat
Has a certain pleasingness

It's worth the pain
Cause he
Might
Love her now.