Laura J. Horstkamp

Crumbs

I hope to choke to death on this delicious crumb

The bait of what’s between alive and dead

Far worse than death to live among the numb

Where hunger feeds itself on tasteless bread

And with each feast more ravenous I’d grow

No rest inside the suit of armor worn

Trading passions for the absence of the thorn

Until the ache of nothingness is all I’d know.