One More Bite Poem by Maria Deyana

Daily bread of mine,
you crumble in my hands.

Each fragment reminds me
that life is no feast —
only what is left behind.
Again, I am alone,
chewing through walls.

My hands reek of smoke and oil,
and all I want is —
one more bite.

I take your crumb,
bleed, and swallow —
a quiet struggle,
and in every mouthful
I taste the weight of concrete.

Survival is a rite
without a priest,
a bloodless liturgy
where the only sacrament
is taste — bitter, unyielding.

And tomorrow…
tomorrow again:
a crumb, sweat, a glass of bitterness,
and one more bite.