The worn, wooden cabinet doors slam open.
Shelves full of colored bags and boxes,
Screaming to me.
Chanting familiar songs,
I'm lured into their trap.
"No. Just shut the cabinet. You can do it this time."
Instead, my mind whirls in all different directions.
My red, bitten hands grab for anything they can reach.
Boxes are torn open, bags are ripped,
Exposing the poison.
I swallow, and swallow,
Not bothering to chew.
My throat is ripped and torn,
But I still manage to choke it down.
More boxes, more bags.
More cookies, more chips.
I look around.
A circle of trash surrounds me,
Like I'm some kind of enemy.
Trapped.
"Here we go again."
I drag myself into the dark bathroom.
The door shrieks.
It's warning me.
All alone.
Kneeling by the toilet,
It's something I now worship.
I toss my head back,
With a fist eagerly formed.
My knuckles already red and blistered,
From the previous gnawing of my teeth.
Fingers thrust down my throat,
Tickling my windpipe.
A human volcano erupts,
Spewing everywhere.
My throat is a raging fire.
Eyes tear.
Hair saturated with toilet water.
I fall onto the tiled floor,
Smashing my head.
With a flush,
It's all over.
With a bite,
It starts all over again.
-Amie Barbone Powell
YOU ARE READING
Chicken Soup For The Soul- Redone
PoetryI'm not sure how many of you, if any, have ever read or even heard of the chicken soup for the soul book series. I used to love reading them and I own several of them. With that being said, I am making a collection of all my favorite poems that I've...
