2:54 p.m. - February 18, 2011
Home is where the Shame lives
We only cut when we're hungry, the fried steak on the table. Daddy wants the biggest piece, the rest of us get the left-overs. If you don't stay for the rest of dinner I won't blame you, the meat is stale. There's not much to eat because everybody cuts as deep as their hunger. We haven't eaten in days and this is the first time we've had meat in ages. Excuse us if we loose ourselves at the table. I really wish you'd stay for dinner, but if you leave I won't blame you. But please stay a little bit, help us eat this meat. Help us eat this flesh. Help us eat this shame. Help us eat this pain away.

Like a stick in my belly, this feeling stays. And it hurts, and it turns, it burns. I call to mommy and daddy, but they have their mouth's full, even though they can fit anymore into their jaws. The meat is cold now, and if I eat anymore, I'll keel away.

Starvation so much better than poisoning, but the feeling still lingers. I've curled up in a ball, under the bridge, wondering where I belong, where I can get something to eat. I'm tired of swallowing shame...