Lunch

Then I lifted my plastic fork
leaden as it was, cradling abandonment
and trembled
it fell again
back into spiced rice and I struggled to pull my mind away from the glowing brick just out of my sight
my stomach had quieted along with its vibrations
my smile wiped
just as quickly as its Inbox
But I kept trying
I kept opening my mouth
kept shoving the words in
and that left no room for food
Yet I trembled
fingers clenching it
I scooped up the first mouthfull
placed it on my tongue
my stomach rebelled
Tiananmen Square, staring down the enemy, standing there was all i could do

the fork fell from my fingers
lurching to a stop as if the impact was to much
the only hope was that rice would force down the lump I felt rising
I swallowed
knowing that even if it strangled me
that these chemicals wouldn't allow me to cry
appetite so closely tied to this
unholy ghost

darkness

some people call it an uncanny darkness, like ink
splattered on starch white paper
it spread from fiber to fiber like a virus
a plague of
black
reaching its tendrils out
writing to communicate that maybe this week you wouldn't
make it
that today you would fall like Bable
and spend the rest of your life trying to figure out
how pain can be translated into so many languages