I bite into a blueberry muffin. Fluffy, warm, sweetness replaces the slightly bitter taste of coffee from two hours ago and anticipatory salivation that previously filled my mouth. I pour a glass of diet cola. I swallow a sugary, fizzy, muffin-y mass. The smell of peanut butter tickles my nostrils as I open the jar. The thick sweet, slightly salty butter mingles with the crunch of milk cookies and more diet cola. More cookies. More peanut butter. More soda. More muffin. Five donuts. Then the acidic saccharine taste of vomit and the bitterness of my nail polish in the back of my throat. And the smell of peanut butter one again.
Nobody watched me before, now I am watched. The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins, And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips, And I hve no face, I have wanted to efface myself. The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.