It ate me down to the core.
Like a child eating an apple for lunch.
Biting through red waxy skin,
Gnawing away at the white crunchy innards,
Leaving only the stem and seeds.

Normal functions were failing,
Starved,
but the smell of food drove me to sickness.
Exhausted,
And yet so very awake.
Happy,
But tears always came before smiles.

Pills.
Like tiny white seeds of hope,
Plant them and what will grow?
A garden where the trees bear fruit?
With a thick bed of grass nestled in the shade?
A place where I can rest and eat and live
in peace.

Or will there be weeds?
Will the trees bear fruit,
But only that which is dry and tasteless?
Is the grass patchy,
Filled with thistles and small thorns that *****?
Does the shade hide a cloud of gnats that will buzz in my ear?
When I am so close to sleep,
Will all I hear be their clamor?

These thoughts come back to me as I lay in the shade,
Eating the magnificent fruit,
And swatting at the gnats.
You have to take the good with the bad they say.