If the body had seasons
I'd say that this sadness is winter
The garden has wilted
The creatures have gone
Sought shelter and slumber
No longer can I hear the rivers
They've all frozen over
All that remains
Are these gods of malice
False prophet kings
Picking what's left of me
To keep their bellies full

it's 3 o'clock and
i smell bad
do you still love me?
even when i look in the mirror
and pick at all my pores
and gouge out my eyes
and moan about

"i wish i was skinnier
and ate less
and took up less space
and my hair was shinier
and my mouth was larger
and i spoke less
and i wish i was better
for you."

do you still love me?
am i still beautiful?
am i beautiful?

I hate you.
Not because of what you did to me,
But because of what it turned me into.