Is it my voice, or yours, that I hear
When I pick up a knife and fork and put
It straight back down because
I haven’t earned my reward?

Are they my eyes, or yours, that trick me
Into thinking I’ve gained immense amounts of weight,
Even though my clothes hang loose and
I’ve lost two inches off my waist?

*

It’s ironic,
this disease;
it eats away at me.
The malignancy consumes me.