remnants of oatmeal and berries
stain the bowl like a murder scene
with bits of fruity red flesh
drying slowly against the clay sides
the only evidence that the occupants
were ravenously consumed

this is the morning ritual
completed solemnly
and in sacrificial silence
providing the day’s fuel

i can taste it on my tongue
and my stained lips convict me
but i couldn’t care less
there were no witnesses
and it will happen again and again
the hunger is never fully satiated