• i've started writing poetry again, and honestly, i don't know whether it's good or bad thing. this one's not done yet. i'm not sure how it's supposed to end. sitting there with my head bowed low. so many emotions, you'll never know. my plate is full; not a bite has been taken. trying hard, but my spirit's shaken. the tears are coming. i can feel them now. one more word, and they might spill out. i run to my sanctuary. there's not much else i can do. the tears are flowing steadily; many more than a few. the darkness surrounds me, and all i can see, is the soft blinking light of the hall, inviting me. thinking is a challenge. it's either that or air. i opt for the latter. it's what will get me out of here. i wander back to the enemy zone. it looks like i'll be dining alone. the plate is replaced with a small plastic bottle. what now? i attack it; full-throttle. i turn the lid, and hold my breath. because i'm sure as hell as to what comes next.

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