Feel regret, but don't fret
~~~~~~~~
With effort you rolled to your side,
pressed the heel of your palm on the floor to push you up,
leaned against the wall when you managed.
~
You breathed in and out for a couple of minutes,
the room spinning and twisting about,
and when your eyes finally focused on the ticking clock above your bed you knelt forward,
on your hands and knees,
and began crawling towards the kitchen.
Once there, you opened the refrigerator in search for something to eat.
There was nothing.
You open the cabinets.
Nothing.
You dug through the trash but all you found was pieces of invoices and onion skin,
You chewed on paper but you didn't like its bland taste
So you whine and slump on the floor like a child having a tantrum.
You want your best friend back.
She used to feed you well.
You were such an insensitive brat, taking everything for granted.
But that reminded you; she had a dog, didn't she?
(Yes, yes, she had a beagle.)
She used to bring him here because you loved playing with him,
and fed him meat that came from a can
(and you were the one in charge of keeping the food in stock.)
You opened the drawer below the kitchen island and found three—
three!—
cans of dog food, untouched as the day you left it.
This must be your lucky day.
You opened it with little effort, dug in,
(the texture was slimy, the meat moist, but you were convinced it was better than anything you've ever had in your life.)
and finish three cans in under fifteen minutes.
You've never felt so full, so satisfied,
but this lasted for short while,
because the next thing you know you were retching all over the floor.
God, you were a mess. A disgusting, pathetic mess.
