The Buffet

A drop hits the ground:
A culmination of darkened clouds
Trapping the sunshine behind.
Rumbling thunder of deafening volume
Drowning out the reasonable mind.
Wetness running down your skin.
It is not raining.

Before the floodgates can open,
As you wait in anticipation,
The flow is cut by disgust
From your dark reflection.

You walk, and walk,
To stop only for regret’s short freezes,
Walk until your feet bleed,
Until irritation transcends the trance.

Among a fog so mild yet blinding,
Where one becomes exposed invisible,
Where hope can no longer find you
And neither can you.

You walk into the only light in view
Which may have any promise of
Dissolving this mist filling your lungs
And crushing you under its weight:

The doors ajar, lined before you,
Anything from the classics
To the most terrific and brutal:
What an alluring buffet!

Hanging below a bright chandelier,
Pull up a chair.
Think; this one looks simple, yet,
Would require skill to suceed.
Let’s check over there?

Lean over into the lobster tank,
Calling to you empty and serene,
Surely, this would fill you up
In your chest with sensation
Like you so crave.

What about the candies?
In all manner of sizes and shapes round,
And easy to swallow lots and lots!
But of course, wouldn’t be ideal if
Instead of helping you reach the finish,
Taking them made you ache and sit
With shame under fluorescent lights.

Taking a page from
The chocolate fountain could work.
Its layers rising high and tall.
From top to the bottom,
So smooth like it’s not even flowing,
Save for the occasional splat.

At last, you reach the carving station.
Each cut made with anticipation and remorse.
But don’t let them see you too much!
Otherwise they might look with pity
At you for being unable to hold back.

Then, maybe it’s best to be decisive.
Cut big and deep so you don’t
Come back for more.
Just let the juices flow out as you
Drop the knife and go drowsy.

Then maybe,
Just maybe,
You can finally go
Believing
To be true those dreams
you always hate having to
wake up
from