Feed it to Me

I have sworn off hopeless crushes and sworn on eating like food is a raft and I am drowning in a cold, black sea. But only after dark. And then I am a werewolf, hungry for confection, willing to kill for something sweet. Tempered and reasonable and conscious during the day, insatiable and out for the sugar that laces my blood at night. A switch flips and I can't remember a single reason why I shouldn't. I worked hard. I deserve this. A little can't hurt and then I can't sleep until I'm too full, too sated, a wild beast in for more than just the partial kill. In the morning I think, well, I won't do THAT again and I drink my green smoothie and dress for a run. But as soon as the sun sets I don't even want to be sexy and thin. I want to be fat and happy and round and safe. I want to stay in my bed and pajamas and house forever, a lifetime of night time, never to see the sun or a bathing suit again. Once upon a time, candy was dead to me. At the dude ranch in Colorado I drank all of the boxes of wine we had on hand to sell. While the other cabin girl stuffed miniature candy bars in her apron, I tossed back shots and beers and boxes of wine and fell in love with all the wrong wranglers. Now, give me a jelly roll, a cookie, donuts, some cake. Let me find comfort and solace and escape. Let me protect myself from becoming too good, too holy, too exposed, too pure. Let me devour this life until there is not a crumb or a bite or a scrap left. Feed it to me.