There was a girl to be seen sometimes,
her breath at the pulse of my throat
and fingers wrapped, such elegant porcelain
skin pressed against my forehead.

She fell into my eyes and I swallowed her
not whole, only those little bits she left.

She does not nourish me,
only curls up in my liver where guilt
prickles every time I let the toxins in.

The only words she spoke reverberate in my lungs
so each of our breaths whisper what I am not -
'when I was younger I knew I could be anything
it was only when I got older that I forgot.'