They say tie a knot

and hang on.

He did and he

choked himself.

 

He prayed for a slip

of sorts, maybe Fruedian,

so someone might see.

Pulled tighter

 

maybe this ball of tension

will be easier to swallow.

His throat had seized,

not the day

 

but the disparity

of what was and what

could have been.

His own finger and thumb

 

pinched his Adam’s apple.

The forbidden fruit

stuck in his throat.

He swallowed it whole

 

and it lodged tight,

like a sorrow suspended,

it blocked both passages

of air and water.

 

Bulimic finger pointing

and wretched denial

heaved up nothing.

Rotten to the core

 

it sat and the seeds

were insulated, unbroken.

Would just a bite been better,

quickly chewed,

 

never to touch taste buds?

A piece of skin in the belly

for a three day stay

to be purged

 

through body and blood.

He drank some wine

to wash his sorrow down

and a piece of bread made it palpable.