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
