Eat Me

EAT ME

Eat me.
Eat my prior victories and present ill attempts.
Eat the confidence that morphed into self-doubt.
Feast on the dying concern and growing indifference.
Chew a mouthful of both a nurturer and a contagious and degenerative virus from which the child (and cautious adults alike) must be quickly inoculated.
Eat your fill of a Master with the capacity of an eighth-grade drop out.
Enjoy a portion of a contemporary melody carved into a medieval drone.
Devour the isolation, ingest the insecurity, and sample the self-loathing.
Eat what was once thriving but is now malignant, stinking and rotten.
Friends, family, and stranger alike, enjoy the table of plenty.
Gorge yourself to the point of puking.
Eat me.