the dip in my bed is staring at me
like an upset mother after you’ve spilled milk
it holds its glare as i rise from it
at 6:27 in the evening
it judges my defrosting state of mind
wondering if i would go back to its comfort
or will i get myself the first meal of the day
the dishes in the sink remains unwashed
it watches from a distance
as i heat myself up a plate of leftover and a cup of coffee
it hovers, it observes
as more used dishes add to its pile
the mirror is spying
on the weight creeping in on my stomach
it silently counts the calories
it speaks
it screams
it deafens
I think it’s getting bad again