Last night, sick
and in want of candy
–in want of candy knowing nothing
would make me sicker
than a sampling of sweets–
I came to the realization
that the number of M&Ms I’ve eaten
, in my life, up to this point,
is greater than the number of years
I can ever hope to live.
I’m not sure if it’s that there’s less of us to enjoy
or if it’s that life likes to lick its fingers, savor us,
likes to hold us ‘gainst the sun and taste us cell by cell.
But I’m sick in bed and sick of bed and sick of everything
and I envy life for tasting me when I can’t have anything worth tasting
and–in spite–I hope I’m the bitterest chocolate. I hope life
has to hold its nose
turn its head
spit me out.