A taste gone wrong, a thought too sour,
The stomach’s sermon in its hour.
Beauty curdles, colors clash,
The body speaks through sudden gash.
The soul rebels against the feast,
Rejects the art, expels the beast.
All we took in—too much, too fast—
Returns to us, unmade at last.
Yet in the purge, a truth is found:
What can’t be held will not stay down.
From sickness comes a strange release—
The retch before the fragile peace.