If hunger is a yin, then conquest is its yang, because success is the only antithesis for starvation.
I peel my soul out of my body with a plastic fork and pile it on the empty plate on the table. I chop it up into the bits of everything I’m willing to do to win and present it with the grace of a risotto.
Because the bodies that shoved their way past me before do not have faces I care to recognize. Visualizing the top of the latter is easy because it’s all I’ve had to dream of from the bottom.
The same fork I used to tear myself apart is now my weapon, wielded with the pride of the excaliber. In the absence of my essence it is easy to be envious of everyone else’s, because they should be lucky that they had the option of humanity.
Why do they go to battle with better swords when their beatdowns were much less formal?
Why is it that my whole life was the price, the ultimate causality I had to lay down only to be told that it meant nothing.
I was fighting with literal teeth forged from nails for the same comforts they kept tucked under their beds. I had to work to find the quickness in the steady, the faintness in the hard, to harvest the dryness and light out of the wet, dreary negative.
Even when the emptiness has been vanquished from my chest, I still have to fight for my spot at the table.
“Come,” the servers say, placing a paper crown on my head.
Time was, I took my meals bent over that table.
Justin’s Note: The second piece of this literary puzzle, which makes Gordian’s knot look like a properly tied shoelace. You see, the trick is not to untie it but to cut it. That seemed simple, I’m sure. Until you found yourself in need of new shoelaces. I know I did.