The Longing

Sitting, my lower back pressed deep into the 

Corner of the wall and floor with...

The shakes, or something like it.

Grasping for a little. Grasping for a lot of

It.

At this point, I'd settle for anything. Something. Any portion, form, or likes of

It.

Clenching my teeth tight and inhaling deep, nostrils flared

Eye's corner ducts full and heavy with brine.

I crave.

And crave and crave and crave (and crave, too).

Steam escapes my nose like that Chicago Bull.

Not the suited mascot.

In my fisted hand I hold a curled, auburn tendril of hair.

Seconds from ripping it from it's very roots...

Remembering  how long it took me to grow that tendril in the first place, so

I digress, however.

There is the insistent taunting. I can't have It. 

Heaven only knows how much I want It. 

Bury my face, into the pillowcase (that rhymed).

And scream

And scream and scream and scream.

In a hissy-fitted tantrum I kick the sheets and blanket.

And ensnare my feet up in its weft rendering me still

So now I'm trapped and livid.

Ree-heeeally livid.

Confined in cotton I sigh.

And still yearn.

I NEED SOME FUCKIN' CHOCOLATE!!!!