Keep going up and down, like a blow,
To the ego, this proves that the metabolism,
Is on a perennial break, like a beautiful illusion, almost a prism,
That keeps you hoping against hope,
Almost like gripping onto a slippery rope,
As I popped luscious butter chicken,
With makki di roti for lunch, and then dessert after dessert, like I was grief stricken,
With the seasonal flu,
Not all grief is of the mind, some are of the body, that make us feel blue,
And so I ate,
And I ate,
Like I'd never seen food,
Each morsel lifted my mood,
A chocolate brownie, followed by a Biscoff cheesecake,
That ended with some pakodas and tart, today I'll take a break,
Back to the grind,
I've made up my mind,
It's a Monday morning,
There's no time for mourning,
Breakfast has been skipped,
The mouth will be closed and I'll remain tightlipped.
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