***** fills my throat
i am enraptured with my disease
i am sickened by the thought of my belly
wishing the skin would stretch tightly around my brittle bones
i wish i could sleep
demons of hunger cloud my fever dreams
i don’t bother with **********
my feet move numbly along
i don’t stop in the mirror
or wonder who i am
that girl was never real
intangible, a fake
i have an english paper due a month ago
although i do nothing
it feels like too much
there is someone in my brain
she is sad
my guitar collects dust
my books collect dust
my records collect dust
i am collecting dust
i wonder when i will cease to exist
“soon” the girl in my head whispers
“but for now, enjoy the rotting”
i am comfortable rotting
“after all,” she says
“it’s the browned parts of fruit that are the sweetest”