Cake eater edit

I’m a Cake Eater

Breathe in the breath.

Take it in.

Breathe it out.

Breathe in.

Let it go.

Let it.

Let it.

Still… it lingers.

It’s like mud, layer on layer,

caked onto my sagging heart.

Heavy.

Clinging.

Because if I feel it,

it might swallow me first.

So I should stuff it down.

If I swallow it whole,

I can stuff it down.

Down, down,

to the very pit

of my being.

But wait—

the pit asks a question.

Is it a feeling,

or a familiar weight?

Do I need it,

or does it need me?

I’m searching for lightness

while lingering in the shadows.

So bring light to the pit.

Let it crack open.

And then I notice something strange—

I’m not swallowing it whole.

I’m eating it.

I’m a cake eater.

Just the dust.

Just the crumbs.

I’m a cake eater.

Not swallowing the dark all at once,

not pretending the plate is empty.

Just noticing the crumbs—

small, gritty, real—

picked up one at a time.

This body… it gets heavy.

But maybe freedom

isn’t throwing the cake away.

Maybe it’s learning

how to eat the dust.

(repeat, fading)

I’m a cake eater.

Just the dust.

Just the dust.