There was a door here,
and a room to keep the things I need.
She said I don't need anything,
to shed these things like pounds;
hard when you keep eating,
but easier everyday to stop completely.
One meal can be a lot too.

I tried it. I wanted her to witness.
I tried it and she ate her words.
I had everything she wanted:
purple bruises, stretch marks and cotton balls,
ointment and alcohol helped at times.
A pound of flesh weighs less
when washed with a pound of rum.

Less still when severed.
She wanted less, needed nothing.

There was a door here,
in the way of things I need.

06/10/2007

Posted on 06/10/2007
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