How dare you feed your shadow and bind your rulebook with the cells of my brain, the tissue of my heart and the calories of my existence.

How dare you tear down my home. How dare you throw away the cushions of my stomach, tear down the curtains of my hair, destroy the pillars of my legs. Until all that was left was the cold brick. an empty house. A hollow heart, a bedridden passion for life.

You ate my muted screams and my broken dreams. Slower, no slower, chew slower. Don’t eat too quick. Weigh that, no! Weigh it again, the scales could be wrong so round it up, log it, 200 left for dinner. Please just let me eat, please give me peace.

Dog-earing her rulebook and breaking its osteoporotic spine. Feeding my life, furnishing my home.