When you got closer I heard your stomach’s growl
It rises in spirals, seduces the silver blade one uses for self-castration
you bring about an overwhelming smell
of re-digested salad, cheap, filled with hallucinogenic consciousness
slathered with a thick, dampened, warm liquid; a gravity
filling the gaps between yellowing teeth indiscriminately
I read the fourteen lines of the poem that you left behind
There you hid an unextinguished matchstick that forces consumption.
tonight, I wait with a naked spine,
harbor a core of dark red inside the throat: apples of a rusty taste
for the man who will deliver the news of your death
I am not ordered to eulogize you, but I will remember
you as the most humiliating hunger of the century.
Through calculating tears, I calculate the speed of the intestine
the chemicals’ crawling takes up all of my pitiable strength
And I return again to the black sea.
Skylar Wu is a freshman at Columbia College on track to major in Philosophy and Economics.
