I dream of food labels now.
I subtract grams of fiber
from grams of carbohydrates
and wake up screaming.
There are no dancing
cookies, yet. And there
are no giant muffins
rolling by like sugared
clowns in crimped paper
cups. I do not walk among
pizza crusts scattered
like fallen soldiers on
a battlefield covered
with singed flour.
I dream in calculations.
They carry over into
my waking world as I
pack this much protein,
to be ingested every two
hours, never once considering
that the brain needs
glucose to survive.
bpmcgackin
nantonio
The Writer
jeremybgg
lisamccolgan
Meredith Turits
ptmcniff
thomdunn
