• The snow in my kitchen
    Smells like cinnamon
    I hear the sounds at the door
    Denying me access.

    I fear their accusations
    Their truth within lies
    I can only be reminded that
    I am content to be empty.

    If I only hold on to the ache
    Welcome it, consume it
    I will not need to literally
    Consume anything anymore.

    I am obsessing over the strength
    I feel, when I stare into
    The filthy grease and mush
    Of the lies that kill America.
    ninja