Inside my bowl of nourishment.
I find blueberries against the milk so raw.
It humbles me almost, I swore I felt something.
Maybe not what I was supposed to feel.
I would have been ridiculed if they knew I could have cried.
Instead I laughed retardly as I always do.
Letting what was really inside die.
Regardless, the fruit spoils and the milk turns sour.
Everything's eventual.
I wish I could draw or take a picture of it.
But it's too late.
Because I let it die.
The image was for me anyway.
maybe because I want to feel special.
Unfortunately, I'm still left with this empty bowl.
With only the memories inside.
I was never hungry.