...I write this for me.
He asked me what I wanted most of all.
I told him to answer the same question first, but I didn't listen to his answer.
The whisper in my head began the list
............Collarbones like knives that frame a chest that puts its ribcage on display in the plane just below my throat and dips backwards into the space of my heart
..........Arms as thin as the bones in a sparrow's wings with angles so sharp they are reminiscent of a diamond cutter
........A ribcage that seems to count its own bones as a pastime
......Legs so thin you can wrap a hand around their biggest parts
....Hipbones that reach out to welcome you into the cavity of my core
..A face with angles that can't be blurred by the smoke of my cigarette
I knew I couldn't say that aloud.
So I held him closer and said I had what I wanted right here.
He smiled and pulled me closer.
He whispered sweet nothings, and my mind raced to shame.
The breakfast I ate.
The breakfast I suffered through, but allowed.
The lunch I ate.
The lunch I purged.
The dinner I ate.
The dinner my heart rate quickened through.
Nothing for hours.
The late night binge.
Absolue.
Despicable.
Shame.