Feast

I have been bed-ridden (apart from work) since last week and its been SO BORING!!! The head cold has started to dissipate but my appetite's gone with it...which has made eating anything incredibly difficult. My sense of taste is non-existent and my stomach has been churning like a mother, so naturally I wrote a poem about it.

This is a picture I saw in Amsterdam. It's a self portrait of the artist who suffered from depression, combated by over indulgence in everything - food, alcohol, cigarettes - and the more he consumed, the worst he felt. He was caught in a vicious cycle. I found the picture quite disturbing, mostly because I identified with it so much. Anyway, it popped up in my head this morning when I was wishing I could keep something down and thinking how ironic it was considering the amount of times I've wished to lose my appetite in order to lose a few pounds. Funny how things change.

Feast

Distressed; my empty body,

This hollow can't be filled.

There's an ache growing; hungry,

But this nausea can't be killed.

Starve me of emotion,

And I'll binge on my regrets.

All the questions left unspoken...

Now look at what I've left.

Crumbs of wishful thinking,

Perhaps its better this way.

I can't define what I'm tasting,

But this flavour, I'd like, to stay.