It’s calling to me, in the loudest of ways, it’s been like this a while, months made out of days.
I want to pick it up, and let the taste just erupt, but I can’t bring myself to do it, my brain is corrupt.
My bones are protruding, that’s easy to see, this isn’t the woman I thought I’d turn out to be.
My frail fingers, wrapped firmly round my spoon, I bring it closer to my mouth with a great sense of doom.
My lips are a part, awaiting its arrival, I know I need to do it, it’s basic survival.
My arm is trembling, my face is sweating, I know the whole table is silently betting.
Will she eat? Will today be the day? I can almost hear their minds start to say.
I need an excuse, I have to think fast, but all my so called attempts have failed in the past. I’m going to have to do it, to have them think that I’m healing, but my mind is telling me how bad it is, and the thoughts just keeps reeling.
My bottom lip shakes, in anticipation to receive it , but my mind is still finding ways to deceive and have them believe it.