Eating and self-hatred are tangled together in this short poem. The speaker opens with a blunt confession: they hate themselves for what and how they eat. The word "victualing," an old-fashioned term for supplying food, gives the act a strange formality, as if each meal were a ritual. The speaker then calls it "an offering," which suggests that the eating is a kind of sacrifice, something given up to appease or to punish.
The last two lines turn from food to writing. The speaker's "heart on paper" is "exed out," crossed off like a mistake in a draft. That could mean the speaker cancels their own feelings, or that they see their inner life as something to be erased. The poem never says why the speaker feels this way, and that restraint helps. The mood is bleak, ashamed, and quietly raw. With so few words, the self-judgment feels private and unresolved.