Poem: Eating

It's the same every day.
The same
gnawing,
painful,
hole
in my stomach.

Somehow this
painful hole
is connected to
the pain in my head
and the general lethargy
of the rest of my body.

I must eat.
God help me,
I must eat again.
Because if I do not eat,
I will not be able to
stomach my pills.
Vomiting them,
into the sink,
wont help my pain.
And it's a waste
of good medicine.

On good days I can
beat my body
to the punch.
Jump out of bed,
rush to the kitchen,
and shovel down
some oatmeal,
quick.
That pacifies the
monster stomach
sometimes.

More often
I put it off,
as long as possible.
Smoking cigarette
after cigarette.
Just thinking about eating,
and how much I hate it,
feeling the pain grow,
for hours,
yet it must be done.
Like pooping,
only worse,
because I have to
put stuff inside.

"Another bowl of fucking oatmeal,"
I think,
feeling nauseous
at the thought.
But I know
I'll end up
eating it.

If I were rich
I could drink lots of
fruit smoothies
and protein shakes.
That would help a lot.
But I'm not rich
and I don't
even have
a blender.

Eating is one of the
painful,
repetitive,
tortures,
that I endure here.
On Earth.

Every day.
Of this painful life.