Glugging bottles of it whole. Now they sit, completely full. My days of sipping sweet are gone. Life’s a game, and I’m a pawn.
Oh, how I gulp and gulp again. but nothing comes, not even when… i cry and scream and toss around, still no pleasure’s to be found. I sob and yell and to I pray: God in heaven, to His dismay. For no response has come to me, no matter what the holy plea.
My special sauce I’ve loved like son, a prize in life that I have won, my only friend in mouth and cheek, without it I am sick and weak. My fingers growing black and green, my face forever so unclean, my teeth are bent and hurt and red, my stomach turning straight to lead. I cannot crawl to reach a phone, or even talk or make a moan. For all I do is scream and shriek, my jaw unhinged in ghastly pique. To writhe and wail to no exhaust - deprived of my own special sauce.
Purchase, Harry G. Sperling Fund, Jean A. Bonna Gift, Brooke Russell Astor Bequest, and Charles and Jessie Price Gift, 2014
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY Medium: Black chalk with stumping
