The Cravings

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

The light is low, but the whsipers are loud,
the calling for carbs is running through my brain,
like a child laughing in a maze, a savage delight,
after being told not to walk on the grass.

As the sound of the television hums,
the whispers in my mind, the cravings are growing,
more insistent that I bend to their will,
with an argument that it is stronger than mine.

And as my hand draws the potato chip bag out,
extracting it from the dark cavern
that is the home of creatures that are not welcome, carbs,
I know I have conceeded that which I didn't want to, again.

These chips give me no satisfaction,
no swell of joy from the crunch that accompanies every mouthful,
they are just a symbol of my lack of will, cooked and salted,
and every day I make a fresh resolution, and every day break it, somehow.

I know I will cry again tonight, at the cascade of errors
that led to this failing, for tonight was only the culmination,
buying them at the store, succumbing to temptation,
and eating without hunger, how do I over come this?

I follow the triggers, the absentminded carvings that come
when watching the blue flicker of the television, 
and so I must banish it, place it into exile if I can't be trusted,
blame the tool when this woman is too weak.

©️ Emma Steel