I can’t eat a f***ing bite
without imagining that bite
to be a time bomb
it ticks down my esophagus
waiting in a pool of stomach acid
to be digested and distributed
amongst the garbage dwellers
rations for rats
bits caught in their whiskers
as they rummage under my skin
making nests in my cellulite
eventually
I know
the time bomb will explode
within the tiny stomach
of the tiny rat
in my not-so-tiny ambiguously named
love handles that don’t seem
to have a handle on anything
(and don’t even get me started on love)
and the tiny rat
who ate the time bomb
will be dead
and so will I
I can’t eat a f***ing bite
without balancing a handful of sand
for the hours I will spend
staring at a wall
and running from myself
or better yet, staring at a clean, porcelain skinned girl
and sticking my fingers into her eye sockets
and slurring my words when I tell her
how much I hate myself
tripping into her arms
she pulls my hair from my face
looks into my bloodshot eyes
cups my slobbered chin
and the clean, porcelain skinned girl says,
better, you empty thing
if only you could be full
easy for her to say,
that skinny b****
won’t listen when I tell her
I can’t be full
without the gut wrenching tease
of spilling myself
when no one’s home
I can’t be Stronger-smarter-skinnier-no-no-Stronger-capital S-save it for the eulogy
rise-rise-above
without the temptation
of curling my toes over the cliff I just climbed
and flying, off,
if only I’d fall faster
but feathers and bowling balls alike
they say you only have to hit rock bottom once
then what the hell am I doing
down here,
pitching a tent?
my rock bottom must be
six feet under
the ground I run into
over and over again
like a test dummy
trying to escape
the same maze
with the same walls
and the same mirrors
and I can’t stop staring
and I can’t stop mistaking my smile
for whiskers