The sesame noodles are gummy and cold

The sesame noodles are gummy and cold.

I’m leaning my weight on the sink.

I feel a hundred years too old

to even stop and think.

I dropped a cube when I filled the glass.

It’s sliding across the laminate heat.

I watch the minutes slowly pass

while it turns into a puddle at my feet.

The stove-hood light makes the edges glow.

It’s shrinking down to a silver wire.

I’ve got nowhere left to go,

and no way to start a fire.