I don’t want to talk about it.
Stop it. I’m not talking about it, so stop asking.
What do you want me to say? That I like it? That I feel better? Feel worse?
There are no feelings here. Just wreckage. Wreckage and empty fast food boxes. Lots of them. Enough for a family.
So can we just stop talking about it, please?
I don’t know if tomorrow will be better. I just know it won’t be today.
I hate food.
© Dave Luis 2015. All Rights Reserved.