The Fridge


There's a lamp on the table and it begs to be turned on and so I do and it illuminates my way into the kitchen
Here I stand with my hands in my pockets
Shaking hands reaching for a fake granite top counter
My nails ache to be chewed
My jaw gritting my teeth
They beg to eat and eat and binge and eat and fill and spill and saturate my veins with whatever my shaking hands may find in the metallic shimmering in the lamp light ice box
the refrigerator door is moaning to be tugged open with a release of built up gases from the food and when I open him up he sighs with disbelief
He's afraid one day I'll be strong enough to not open his doors past midnight
The refrigerator has nightmares of me hardly thinking about him
What's in him
How much I can handle of him
How much I need him
To binge on his bountiful love and leftovers that gently whence but appreciate me consuming
Chewing
Swallowing
They like seeing my quietly visits
And they love my ballet
On my tiptoes
No one knows that I make quick trips to the fridge at night
One day I'm telling you
One day I'll be strong enough to say
No
I'm not hungry
But you see the fridge my man
My hunger pain
My guy
He's the only one who ever let me in

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