It's always the peanut butter that gets me.

I wake up, every day, to the possibility
of a fantastic rye-and-jelly dreamscape,
saving my stomach from
the throes of dining hall mediocrity.

Yet I rarely make it, that sandwich.

I reminisce on the nutty cream, taking
all the care to remember the last success...
yet my day wanes. Evening closes in
and I find myself starving to feel, to sleep.

Why deny myself something so simple?

I can't seem to do it, to take the knife
and make a simple delicatessen dish
in the comforts of home. I lack the
drive to feed myself.

I have no cause.

I am hunger.