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jenna-leePoems
I had bulimia for breakfast. It tasted like hunger and something I'd had before. It tasted like the broken mirrors in my room, and something I'd had before the hate made me like this The broken mirrors in my room tell me lies that take the hate, make me like this. These reflections make me tell myself lies that take the hurt, that make me whole. This reflection makes me an explosion, pushing all the bad, all the good, all the all out of my body. An explosion, pushing all the bad, all the good, all the all out of my body. I had bulimia for breakfast. Hunger: The hurt that makes me a hole.
0
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
A (w)hole
I had bulimia for breakfast. It tasted like hunger and something I'd had before. It tasted like the broken mirrors in my room, and something I'd had before the hate made me like this The broken mirrors in my room tell me lies that take the hate, make me like this. These reflections make me tell myself lies that take the hurt, that make me whole. This reflection makes me an explosion, pushing all the bad, all the good, all the all out of my body. An explosion, pushing all the bad, all the good, all the all out of my body. I had bulimia for breakfast. Hunger: The hurt that makes me a hole.
Not personal experience. No worries.
jenna-lee
Written by
jenna-lee
American
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
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