The Feast

            Your gangly arms reach for me, but I shrink in disgust. It isn’t really happening, we aren’t really here, but I shrink nonetheless. Your voice grates away at my ears and your eyes, that part of you that was the only part I really loved, are empty and dark.

            And yet, I’m not the person I wanted to be either. These limbs that were once filled with forest fires have trouble making it up the stairs. My greedy mouth reaches for $15 cupcakes and I hear the rough slap of my thighs when I walk. The mornings when I woke up excited to see the rest of the day have long gone. Was I really ever brave enough to walk through the most dangerous parts of town at midnight, arms extended for what I knew would probably just be more cold air?

            And once I’ve decided that no, I wasn’t ever that woman, no, you two, my lovers, were figments of my diseased brain, I feel your ghostly fingers sneak around my waist. There is no giving you up or going back, not anymore. We all sway together as the ravenous wind clips my hair.