I plate it up then put it down I doubt that I will ever even eat this food The process it made me less hungry And soon I get distracted Distorted scale of importance I live, I live, but I do not survive so well Food and sleep are never prioritised by me There’s jokes about my tired eyes My stomach starts to sing A manic public episode and then I start to think Is this an inevitability stemming from my broken head Or have I just not spelt and eaten again? So I stay up ‘cos I can’t sleep I say, but really I’m just reading and watching And communicating with people in a language that I think is flawed Next thing I know it gets too late I think of all I must do the next day And so I opt to stay awake and I start drinking coffee Now I know I need to eat and so I go inside a shop But the food is not appealing and the choice there is a lot I pace around and panic buy nothing and leave I tell my friends I’ve eaten when they ask me