It seems I’m filling a void of hunger.
With whip creme and iced speckles of caramel.
With a lover’s kiss and tainted lips.
With a friend’s laughter. and only is it bearable.
With horror flicks and corny scripts.
With morning asanas, and I’m only a bit stable.
I don’t think it’ll end.
I think I’m forloned and have the feeling
I’m supposed to be condemned.