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Isn’t exercise supposed to make you feel better about yourself?
I must be doing something wrong, then.
Sometimes
The panic
Is more dangerous
Than the pandemic
I could feel the longing in her eyes
As we spoke
Each word she whispered stung and ached
Like the bite of a venomous snake
But every move she made had screamed
With unspoken apologies
Apologies for what,
I did not know.
She did not do anything wrong
As each day passes I can feel myself slowly losing a part of my identity
falling into the black abyss of insanity
Once again this disease has become all consuming
eating away at my mind
I feed myself the same lies
stomaching the pain of this decaying body
Mind clouded by malnutrition
Once again indulging in this slow form of suicide
What is love?
If I may ask.
Is it butterflies
When they walk past?
Is it warmth that seeps
To your fingertips
When they gift you
With a soft gentle kiss?
Is it the trust
That gives you comfort
Or the peace that they give you
That you only used to have in slumber?
Is it the bond that you share
That can’t ever tear?
Is it dying for the one you live for?
What is love?
If I may ask.
Red
Back in the far corners of my mind
where the walls are painted red
the carpet blood stain red
I left the light on for you.
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