words dance across
the pages of that
worn, old paper

my eyes dart
back and forth
like small fish
hoping to find
some morsel of nourishment

but all i have found
is bitter hate and despise-
things that are inedible

but i gobble them up-
desperate for anything
your hand provides

they say do not bite
the hand that feeds you

but what if that is the
same hand that
stabs and bruises your heart?
what then, little fish?

do you continue to
**** yourself by consuming
their poisoned love?

or do you simply choose
to live and swim away?