I can walk into an all-you-can-eat buffet,
and my brain will light up like a gambling addict's.
Numbers running in my brain,
neon signs floating above plates counting fat and carbs and sugar,
studied late at night when insomnia was my only meal.
I can forget the chill of sucking on my breakfast ice cube,
the heat of plastic trash bags wrapped around my body in a hot shower,
the pain of my body eating itself,
living on nothing but water,
drowning my organs,
the occasional shot of vodka,
a liquid diet.
Smoke holding the whole thing together.
I can forget the many lunches I threw away,
the many joints I reached for,
and I may even forget the pills I kept hidden in a tic-tac case.
I can forget the happiness of one lost pound,
I can forget the shame of fitting into a normal-sized belt,
but I will never,
forget the calorie count of a single dinner mint.