Nonsensical meals don’t satisfy me.

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I don’t want it, I don’t want it.

Gradually, I come to dislike it.

With my gluttony dampened, I say no to seconds.

I can’t, I can’t.

You scold me in a demeaning voice

as juice spills from my overfilled cup.

I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna.

I get sleepy as the clock nears midnight.

The sound of sizzling keeps me awake.

Aha, aha.

You tell jokes I’ve never heard before,

but they’re as bad as the meals we’re eating now.

Every day,

we eat and sleep.

There’s a chance to make a dish I’m used to,

but you insist on making something new.

These textures feel terrible in my mouth.

Ugh.

There are nothing but unappetizing smells here.

You think your ideas are clever,

but nothing about this is perfect.

Can I be done?

Can I stop eating?

Is it still too early?

Ah, I pick out sodden lettuce without eating it.

Even love has started to taste sour.

Please say you're done.

The disaster I’m part of now is like a burning dish.

The smoke and the smell permeate the room.

How strange it is to play with food.

I’ll give you my leftovers.

Now that my favorite meal is nowhere to be found,

nothing feels done.

In a night where everything keeps changing,

no dish is ever completed.

Smoke builds in the room.

An ingredient of high status gets burnt.

I don’t know, I don’t know.

I’m getting a bad feeling from all these bad tastes.

My stomach is empty and unsatisfied, leaving me with no energy.

That’s too bad.

I glare at your silhouette.

I’m getting tired of this, so I might snap like a cracked plate.

It’s too much, it’s too much.

The only thing I can tolerate here

is being taken away from me in the end.

Aha, aha.

You’re picking on me

with such a cold attitude.

Every day,

I sleep and sleep.

Let’s test my mood.

Our hands touched by chance.

Though I have no intention of looking your way.

The flavors are dull

and the love is imperfect.

Can you stop calling for me?

I won’t respond even if you wheedle.

Ah, you’ll scold me if I don’t eat the rubbery pasta.

You won’t make more, will you?

Please say you’re done.

A night of chaos is as close to stillness as I’ll get.

A mixture of praise and lies

isn’t going to make me happy.

How disgusting it is to mix incompatible ingredients.

Tell me what you want me to say.

With all meals finished for the day,

I wait and wish tomorrow wouldn’t come.

A day where I can expect things to be the same

is becoming something pointless to wish for.

Smoke builds in the room.

An ingredient of high status gets burnt.

Just show me something I’m used to already.

I don’t want to see anything new yet.

Since there’s nothing left that tastes good now,

I wanna be done.

I’ll leave you to drive yourself crazy

with your pitiful attempts to force uniqueness.

This love has long since been overcooked

and is now unsalvageable.

I can’t eat something that’s rotten,

so I’ll leave it only to you.

A story of something that may have been less than love from the start

is a calamity that somehow came to fruition.

When even simple meals become a disaster,

things are bound to end in misery.

An ingredient of high status gets burnt.

It shouldn’t have been used in the first place.

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Author’s note: Well, here’s my first poem in four months! It’s quite long, so I hope it’s not too much of a bother to read. It’s the kind of poem you can perceive however you want. I like to keep things ambiguous enough for anyone to be able to put their own specific meaning into it.

The character in the drawing was originally going to be a girl, but in the end he ended up being a boy. I wanted the art to appear kind of dull, but I wonder if I succeeded at making it seem that way. Food is tedious to draw and I am not good at it. Drawing art to match a poem is somehow harder for me than it should be. That’s all! ♡

#Art