I take one more.
One more chip. One more slice of pizza.
One more scoop. One more bite of the bar.
One more sip of my wine.
I decide to take another one.
Then I see them, looking at me.
Commenting. Talking. Judging.
I rush to the bathroom.
I encourage my mind to cleanse.
I pry my systems with my fingers
So that people will stop looking at me.
Saying that I am not perfect.
The hurtling from my belly.
The regurgitation that becomes more.
Only the sink bears knows my story.