A Poisoned Meal for One

A Poisoned Meal for One

The table was set for a single quiet soul,

a fork resting gently beside an empty plate,

A candle’s flame seemed to watch every move,

as if it knew exactly what I had planned.

The air tasted bitter before the first bite came,

a warning threaded through the stillness of the room,

yet hunger has a way of whispering sweet things,

tempting a heart already tired of the fight.

I poured the sauce with a trembling steady hand,

listening to the echo of my own careful breath,

each motion a confession I would never speak,

each swallow a secret meant only for me.

The room grew colder as the meal slipped within,

as though the walls sensed the choice I made,

and the candle leaned toward its final spark,

offering a farewell in its quiet fading glow.

I sat in the silence that followed the taste,

feeling the poison unwind its steady truth,

knowing no one would knock or ask me why,

That the meal for one would stay untouched by grief.