Gluttony
My intestines burn, vomit leaks
from my throat as if from a rusty pipe.
I purge out my desires, salvaging my figure.
My body is a computer slowly being
broken down by viruses because of my habits.
I promise my rotting organ this is it,
no more.
But then I come across a table of croissants.
Light and buttery, rivers of smooth milky chocolate
flowed from within.
My hand gently touches my belly like
a pregnant woman over her unborn child.
Soon, I know, I will put my poor stomach
through the same torture, yet again.
