Food Will Be the Death of Me

The noose is always you
I could take a bite,
..take a few.
There’s juices of wine.
Be sick, feel the divine
Headache -
And stomach strain
And the constant curse, hanging
By my hips, waist.
And the hearse leading away
will scream
“Here is nothing, died in vain.”
Not skin and bone.
Nor a ghost.
Just a corpse with a noose.

Died choking on food.