your disorder and depression aren’t ****,
and I do not admire the way your nails
have disappeared, nor the way your
hand pratically clutches that half-empty mug of beer.

know that i find you pretty ugly
with that inebriated smile
slurring about your cowardly mouth,
swerving along the tight lanes of your lips.

nobody can stand to believe anymore
that there is depth inside your eyes.
You cry trenches, insisting like a hungry fool,
Abyss, I retort, empty, shaking black hole

gobble, gobble, chug, chug
you listen to the same sad songs on repeat
proud, like they were your signature fragrance
just know that you reek of desperation

There is absolutely nothing courageous
about your endless consumption,
yet you somehow continue
to bite the hand that feeds

i imagine you should wish
to starve to death, so go on.
but stop ******* other skeletons dry
and quit hanging around until last call

(unless it really is that you are simply
trying to douse that flame that makes you
a firefly in august, in which case i say
burn yourself to the ******* ground)