Day 19 – My Target

I flip the knife over
Metal reflecting the stone
The handle is worn
Smooth from hours of use
It is an old friend

My target, white and fat 
Is unaware of my presence
Unaware of the tears
That will pour out of my eyes
When the mission is done

I do not cry for the pain that I cause
But for the act of slicing into his flesh
It diminishes me, piece by piece,
Until all I am is a slave

Bound by hunger to consume this onion
For what is a footlong Italian sub without one
Meaningless and empty, full of salty meat and withered greens

But the onion collides with my tongue
Flavor dancing down my taste buds
At the end of lunch, I am satisfied with my work
And the day resumes, brighter than it was