The Craving

I'm up on midnights nearly every night for something steers me;
Past the bed and TV, towards that retched tiled floor;
I'd turn around and flip the switch, turn again towards my itch, moving me to the evil off-white door;
"I can't do this," I'd say, "I will not touch that off-white door!"
This I'd say and nothing more.

I knew there was no way I could, but the entire time I knew I would;
Would go and touch that horrid, horrid, oh so horrid off-white door;
I grabbed the handle and swung it open, started searching, praying, hoping; hoping I'd never grab some more;
I'm on a diet, I told myself as I crouched on that tiled floor.
I grabbed some food, and ate some more.