“Breaking Up Brings Indigestion”
c.2001, Miriam M. Wynn
And for the first
time,
I know what they mean in the love songs;
every station on the radio sympathizes with me;
the words swing between thirsty despair,
and confused gut reactions;
Two weeks ago
I predicted this,
One week ago I held hope;
on Sunday you were holding me,
on Wednesday we had broken;
on Friday I laid eyes on you,
and every word we spoke
rang false and empty as my bed,
now without you, and cold.
My blankets don’t
do nothing for me,
I shiver in the dark;
my pillows barely hold your scent,
now that you’ve gone so far;
I barely eat a thing, and my stomach grumbles daily,
I’m starving for something so close,
and what little I eat can’t aid me;
I’m swallowing
life without you,
and it’s so sharp that I’m choking;
in my dreams you’re so very clear,
and in reality a smoke ring;
intangible, untouchable,
surrounded by the ghost of you
in chilled bed sheets I can find no warmth;
my stomach has been burning for days,
and I’m now on my fourth;
I swallowed down
the sad, harsh pill
that you’ve handed to me,
and my body stirs in fits and stops,
seeking to reject it;
I haven’t slept
properly these last few weeks,
and not at all since Wednesday;
I can’t look at anything I own without
my mouth watering for you;
I remember when
you told me you didn’t eat for 3 weeks,
when your last woman left you;
and I’m wondering if I starve myself,
will 3 weeks bring you to me?
But you are dozens
of miles away,
and you’re not thinking of me;
and for all the hungering pains I feel,
you just won’t be aware;
so I go on trying
to digest this pill,
my stomach clenched and churning,
and I go on sleepless, restless still,
living off a lonely feast of yearning.
