Emotional Routine

[miyako73]

I fail to ascertain
whether it's plucked
like a blossom
too early for spring
or slowly ripped
like a paper
full of inkblots.

I cannot tell
if it's my torn stomach
or my empty chest
that welcomes the morning
or if it's the agony of the body
or the ache of the mind
that tortures early.

I fix my eyes
on the melting sugar
and my ears on the sounds
of granules and bubbles
as I hesitate to confront
the empty wall
and stir the bitter.