A sudden jab, a stab, an ache
definitely not her appendix.
But it hurts on that side, again.
She’s not paying much attention
as she slowly spirals
into melancholy and memories
triggered by sappy old songs and
intense feelings about missing out
and never again feeling “that feeling”.
Mirror madness -
disgusted with her body, face, hair.
Kitchen hatred -
the persistent coffee stain on the counter top,
the seven layers of white paint on cabinets,
the spots in the stainless steel sink.
Pathetic – her house cleaning.
Another twist, a pang,
incessant questions and neediness
from her child.
Spanish curse words under her breath.
She tries not to scold, yell, or show she’s nasty today.
She swallows two pills, washing them down with coffee,
they work faster like that,
shuts her eyes and listens...
to every possible song to further make her feel depressed.
She’s getting worse.
Moaning, whimpering, biting her bottom lip.
“I’m just hungry” she says.
She wants something,
really needs something.
“Like a burger?” (He thinks he knows.)
No, he doesn't even know, doesn't get it.
“Just take me out – now – before I freak,” she pleads.
Fifteen minute drive, fresh air, salvation
and a chocolate ice cream cone.
Yes. That was it.
In the morning, a faint pinkish stain,
that was why.