preheated predestination

i go through the hollow days

until the first drop of alcohol hits my tongue;

and then, the choice. the concerned mother,

the train-track rumbling stomach, the

"you can't drink any more unless you eat something."

i want to say it's my life. i want to say

that drinking on an empty stomach is far

more cost effective and that i'm here to go

the distance. it's enough for the first

few hours to laugh it off, until the house is closed

up and the oven is on, on, on.

really, it's not my fault. my dad's a chef. i'm human

and i know i'll die if i chastity-lock my lips forever, it's just...

well, there's something in it. there's something

perfect about "no thanks, i'm not hungry,"

like the smiling hollow is earthquake-rumbling:

"yes, yes, yes, one day you will die small."

July 2020