I have worn the same clothes three days in a row
the same filth
that ingrains onto my skin
and scratches at my heart
slices through everything

It is big enough to cover the ugly mess that is my body
And my arms encase my chest
when I'm not wearing it
Although I know everyone notices
It's not that I can't afford clothes
Its that my mind can't accept them

I have one shirt
It covers my scars
It covers my chest
the one I want to cut off
just to feel like me
it covers my stomach
the one that aches from being empty sometimes
then hurts from being stuffed full

I want to wear different clothes
I don't want to be looked at the way I am
but in the end
This sweatshirt can feel like my only friend

Yes, it is crusted over with blood
on the inside of the left sleeve
but only because
it is making sure I don't bleed out

Yes, maybe it makes me look bigger than I am
but then after a binge
nobody notices the bloating
because the sweatshirt can hide anything

I don't know
where the metaphor ends
and reality begins anymore