Here is a response I must give but cannot give to whom must receive it.
You feed the need.
A yawning dark and deep emptiness that lies within.
devouring everything it touches
dragging to its depths
an eternity of punishing hunger, wild and intense
gnawing away at the fabric of my mind, an emptiness that desires you
your presence,your warmth, your smell, your very soul.
to placate, to fill
I crave for you.
a yearning so maddening, it is frightening
But even as you fill, you increase the emptiness. crazed and rabid, I desire you still.
an ache as tangible as it is visceral
as painful as it sooths
as though I am caught in a fevered dream
tell me my perception from your reality
you feed the need, even as you cause the hunger still.

Wondering if this is the day
Maybe you decided to just slip away.
You haven't called this morning to simply say.
Have a good day bae.
I call but there's no answer.
Guess your too busy today to be there.
Guess today you just don't care.
Emotions are left suspended where.
Just hanging somewhere.
If you find it difficult to say goodbye.
Still doesn't mean my heart won't cry.
Resuscitate.
When ever I thought we were doing great.
The sweet way we like conversate.
Seems we be getting along well able to relate.
Next thing I know you'd say you'd call me back in a few minutes.
And it'd be many hours after pushing me to the limits.
Feelings of us ending revisits.
Feelings of losing is like dying.
Resuscitate.
Shallow emotional Breathing.
Then your calling  like all is fine again we're talking.
Never admiting.. Pulse and respirations needs to be taken.
Palputations..Resuscitating.. Rightly breathing breaths shaken.
Thoughts of leaving. who will be the first to make it a goodbye.
Resuscitate before its too late...Beautiful conversations are all a lie.
Stumble.. rocky.. deleting..unfriending..unbelieving ..Today!
Do Not RESUSCITATE..
By SelinaSharday all rights reserved. S.A.M 2018

my brain is the logic
full of wisdom and precision
keeping me inline
making carefully planned decisions

my heart is the emotion
full of wonder and hope
pushing my boundaries
until it is broken
unknowing how to cope

my gut holds other worldly knowledge
it throbs when flags are red
considered the second brain
if I chose not to listen
by now, I'd be dead

my soul is a combination
of the energy in my gut, heart and head
it is kind and fragile
delicate like fine silk thread

But who do I listen to?
Who will lead me to the right choice?
They are in a constant battle
when all I long for is to rejoice.

Alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin 

Aye dread getting *******
   and getting washed 
   even without spectacles
   that haint no mo' six-pack ab
which nearly rock-ribbed
   mid equatorial zone shapeshifted 
   into corpuscular blubbery 
   ancillary physiognomy
   where aye wanna bab 
bull posttraumatic stressed out
   middle age battle of the bulge.

Season sponged pants squarely 
   and tightly across the equatorial adipose tissue
   requiring mister crab
to clamp down with pincers
   viz primitive liposuction 
   whence rustling scupper
   will efface this trireme 
   where three-ply
   tread fully and tirelessly dab
bull to ameliorate
   rolls of extra flesh alien 
   to what stacked
   as an athletic sculpted body.

   Now no prolong inhalation
   get with steely mettle hie trite to iron out the flab
thus this part
   and parcel of senescence, 
   yet auxiliary buttressed dermis 
   effect forming gorged girth
   giving "love handles" grab
reigniting reign of prepubescent anorexia nervosa, 
   bootstrapped now wen frankly
   zaps distorted self-image. 

   Evoked holocaust repugnant
   rolls of fat insta jab
stubborn thoughts of self-loathing
   entice me to become a lab
bore a tory guinea pig to restore 
   prime of life when five foot ten
   alignment could nab
first place in a slick couture magazine 
   from the neck down
   taut torso bearing 
   fashion model and
   teen idol where tab.

To stand stock still until Shutterfly
   would SnapChat 
   rippled tummy, could
   fill my hungry wallet with inxs of cash
now, aye haint so gorge ***,
 WhatsApp with  
   a faux pregnant protuberance,
   though thankfully 
   derriere still rather dash
ing, which palm pilot sized buttocks
   doth newt offset. 

   Lost battle of the bulge,
   where diet tribes furloughed in a flash
abandoning their respective stations, 
   gnome hatter sinusoidal
   parabolic frontispiece finds me to gnash
my toothless mouth for lack of means 
   to stave of the depredations 
   of slump pin proletariat
   allowing me a hash.

Tag with hefty weight, acquiescing 
   this Pillsbury doughboy blivet 
   to subject himself to the sharp
   stings of a cool whip lash
bearing the snap against raw skin as due process 
   and supplication for atlas shrug
ging his shoulders
   at the fountainhead naming me mash
shew Scott in regard to oblate inflation. 

   Insulation fiberglass around midsection, and
   how ma late mum 
   (an avid fan of doctor Carleton Fredericks,
   who preceded Mehmet Oz), would quash
the love she showered on this sole heir - 
   resorting to exhaustive palliatives -
   even ear rash
shun null gambits,
   and as a last-ditch effort 
   putting this offspring  
   on par with an albatross -
   vamoose get out with the trash!