Food and Other Drugs

Because nobody knows, I state here that I am a sucker for creativity. I am also a sucker for picking recognized verses, giving them a modern twist and making them incredibly dope, like a spoken word artist got his hands—and voice—on it, but managing to maintain the original meaning. Someone did that! *insert WhatsApp dancing woman emoji here* Now, I’m not a big fan of Tumblr blogs, because they are more pictorial than lexical. But I am enamoured with Eyram’s. (Is it enamoured by or enamoured with? Eish.) By all means, spare five minutes to visit it—you’ll need only five minutes to take in all the content, to be honest. But it’s five minutes excellently spent.

*

Cooking

He spied the grass he clutched. They had taken special care in cooking school explaining this herb. One blade dropped in sauce released a burst of flavour. Three blades in a steaming cup would cure insomnia. Four blades meant eternal sleep.

His stew’s blandness reminded him of what it missed. He stalled, his lethargy a side-effect of his recent sleeplessness. Three blades. Turn off the stove. Go to bed.

Bed still smelled like her. The depression her body had carved into the mattress was still there, a cavity that would never be filled right again.

He needed four blades.

*

Now. Eyram.