Fresh baked bread
Layered in death and vegetation
My insides burn with withdrawal
It's been almost 24 hours now
How much longer will it take?
To either cave in unwillingly
Or to die painfully slow?
If I had not forgotten my cash
I'd have given in to my survival drives
I'm happy I forgot it
Because I can't stomach the idea of food
Let alone choke down somethings g revolting
Only because it pulls me further away from death
Instead I flood my veins with nicotine
Desperately trying to curb these cravings
My legs threaten to give out
With each step I take
Even now, scratching this among global fem notes
Dissociated entirely from class
My hands won't stop shaking
Is it nerves?
Or physical deterioration?
Or the panic lying under the surface?
Deafening screams ricochet through my mind
As I try to drown these feelings
But they won't disappear
I've dropped significant weight
And I don't want it back
I don't feel the need to lose more
But still it falls away
And eventually leaves nothing but skin and bones
Fueled by electrifying anxiety
the microwave dings and my dinner is done
I pull out a plastic bowl filled with what once was
I remember thinking before
anyone who resulted to eating frozen dinners was sad
hoping for something better
these days all I see
is freedom to do what I please
and happiness in being alone
The burning feeling in my stomach calms me.
I don't even mind.
You have been my friend for years.
Feeling myself starving makes me feel alive.
The crawling under my skin. Too familliar.
I'm in control of my destiny, or am I?
My body is disappering and I don't care.
Do I live or die? It's up to me.
My old friend. I haven't seen you in awhile.
All the years we've spent together, makes me feel close to you once again.
Do we go down together this time?
I don't care as long as you're with me.
You're the only one who never leaves.
With you by my side I'd do anything.
Even destroying myself in the process.
I take a bite.
The taste, it's sweet.
The texture, it's crisp.
I take another bite.
The taste, it's grand.
The texture, it's great.
I take a third bite.
The taste, it's old.
The texture, it's the same.
I take one last bite.
The taste, it's gone.
The texture, it's nonexistent.
Why do I do this to myself?
I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles.
It's feeding time.
Put your favorite food on the stove,
But don't you stand beside and stir as there's lots left to do:
Like drying your eyes with a light of meaningless information
Like running laps between choices to make, never quite reaching any
Like watching herds of dust cats growing in every corner
Like ignoring texts
Like drifting away
Like feeling dead
or fearing you will be
or wishing you were
Like covering your skin's imperfections with pure red
Like decorating walls with scratches for every time you've ever:
inconvenienced someone slightly
thought ill of anyone or anything
made others worry
failed to take care of yourself
burned your food
Now that you've taken your time with these routine steps, your meal should be ready.
You've done well. The charred bits serve as perfect fuel to the fire that consumes you.
The resulting smoke signals a message:
"You were right,
you truly are worthless.
Here's what's left,
only a few bites from what's unburnt.
You deserve nothing more"
with the break of dawn
i feel hunger following my sleep
arrives the warmth of the sun
and the warmth of fresh breakfast
beside me is an indentation in the bed
following its scent i linger on sugar
your scent still lingers in the blankets
its irresistable; i'm hooked on this flavor
i hear your footsteps like shy murmurs
sweet blueberries and soft muffin bread
lifting my eyes to meet yours finally
i find solace in its simple beauties
you are my sunrise my dear
the day is not complete without you
Oh the beauty I've created
This party of texture has me inebriated
With the right amount of finesse.
All the best foods leave a mess.
And this burger is finger licking good.
I'm living in between meals right now
So please don't let me be misunderstood.
Avocado breakfast burger, you are my god
Cause I've a single prayer, not for money not for a hot rod.
I prayed so my tummy could be full.
Not to any religious icon, to me that's all kind of dull..
I prayed to my skillet, hoping someday I'd be able to fill it...
I've got good rhyme going I hope I don't kill it
It should be a crime to be this poor.
But it's better than sleeping on the floor
It's better than a million scenarios of which I don't have much time to explore.
For now my tummy is reloaded
Onward I go, happily bloated..