‘What’s eating you?’ they ask
as I push the food around my plate.
‘Nothing,’ I say rawly, not pausing,
nor stealing a moment to hesitate.
I lie to them, but not myself
(no, not to me, I see my fate),
knowing what’s eating me:
eating is, all-too-figuratively.
And so, eschewing truth,
my I responds with nothing, quite literally…
It eats away at me bite by bite, bone-by-bone –
body, brain, and soul.
Because I can. And I can’t stop me.
And why should I want to stop,
when this is a game that only I can win and lose –
and see me, raise me, or fold?
I will have to stop, in the end, but not for me:
I live my life divided into parts – three –
and each and every one of us is one no longer whole.
I hate my body;
know that he hates me.
Like a loveless marriage,
we are stuck together, indefinitely.
Not because we want to, need to, must,
but because we have to be:
I’ll eat away at him while he eats away at me.
Photo by kirikiri
He also writes for The Sin (N.U.I.G.'s student newspaper), and as a reporter for ILAS (a campus centre providing community-based initiatives for the local area), and is sixwordmemoir.com's Memoirist of the Month for October 2015.
- Opium and Opera