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I cry with ice cream
I hear the roar of my stomach,
boisterous and bold.
The emptiness fills me with hollowness.
I feel my bare feet press against the brisk wood floors,
thumping and tramping.
My stomach awaits stuffing.
I swing open the door to the freezer,
flustered and frail.
My head throbs as I glance at the options.
Emotions tear through my head,
sadness and sorrow,
attempting to push all feelings away.
I grasp the ice cream firmly—mint chocolate chip.
Comfort and contentment,
as I curl up on the cushioned couch and begin devouring.
I become the ice cream inside and out,
frozen and frigid,
as my pain simmers like a heated pot on a stove.
I see my stomach inflate,
burst and broaden,
while my tears abruptly stop.
I feel my bare feet press against the brisk wood floors,
scuffing and stomping,
as I return the mint chocolate chip ice cream back to the freezer.
I feel the peace of my stomach
silent and still,
filled with prosperity and pleasence.
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