3.7.10

skimming. scraping. i'm the cantaloupe of god. he scrapes and scrapes my fruit away. seeds and pulp long gone. i'm little more than skin. dry. dusty. not worth fodder for swine. soon, even it, i, will be gone. feast over. scraps gone to mulch.

i am truly nothing. a vapor, a spirit, ghost of a ghost. with nowhere to haunt. i look at the banquet set for others. the king enjoying the last of my fruit. he does not bother to wipe his beard of my juice.

and i swoon. a forgotten puff of dust on a rough plank floor.