Gluttony

there are men

who don’t love

unless they’re full,

full of meat

and beer

and some piece of woman

who looks at them like a steak.

there are women

who don’t cry

until the cake is gone,

or the phone dies,

or the bastard leaves

trailing crumbs

in the bed.

gluttony isn’t just eating,

no...

it’s that goddamn urge

to fill the hole,

with food,

with sex,

with expired promises,

with anything

that doesn’t taste

like emptiness.

I’ve seen guys sell their souls

for a hot plate,

and women shatter their reflections

trying to look thin

while secretly devouring

the leftovers of their soul.

we’re no different,

in the end.

we swallow the world

hoping it fills us,

and when it doesn’t,

we order another round.

with sauce.

and pain.