Mess

The tube of fine chocolate has remained un-opened in the cupboard for many months. I shake as I break the seal. This is my will folding. I peel open each individual chocolate disc and lay them on the counter. My mouth fills with saliva. How I have yearned for the silky fine cocoa to burst on my tongue. How I have praised myself for my resolve. Each night sitting in the chair looking at the little red clock, not touching them. Resisting. Repelling. Repressing. The first disc is like heaven. I am slow. Mindful. It melts. I sigh out loud. Look around the empty room guiltily. Someone will catch me being nice to myself. Eating more than bread and beans. I tell them I find no pleasure and here I am standing at the counter slipping chocolate in my mouth. Faster and faster. Time spins and I am holding the last piece of chocolate. Now I feel sick and remorseful. On the counter is an empty tube and a pile of silver foil. I hastily put them in the bin bag. Seal it up. Place it outside the kitchen door. That irks me and I have to lock it outside the front door. I have to get rid of it. Forget it. The light fades. The chocolate settles heavily in my stomach. I groan as I drop the curtains then settle myself back into my chair of waiting. Even there I find it hard to rest. To live with the empty tube and silver foil of life. I move constantly. Drum my fingers. Twitch my toes. Smack my lips. Yet I am as motionless as a headstone. Rigid. Stuck in the ground. But not secure. Just scarcely hiding buried bones of regret and wasted time.

I switch off the lights. Say goodnight to the house and feel ok. The bag is outside. There is mess in it. But at least I have marked my birthday with a fleeting amount of pleasure.