July 5th, 1:07am
I love you, deeply

July 8th, 3:44pm
I love so many things about you

Subtle.

In week one
I decided that
completely powerless
was the safest feeling
I had ever felt

In week two
gifted expensive whiskey
and mommy issues
told you all my secrets

In week three my skin
was healthier
for having known you
and nothing felt so dark
as before

In week four
I heard every song
sound
as if on  
acid

In week five
you showed me
that he did not have
the cornerstone
on breaking my heart
I would not know that until
week seven

In week six
_space_

In week seven
typing…

In week eight I watched
the blood move down skin
which had not been opened
in better than two years
It was then
I knew
the shelter had become
the storm.

I don't count the weeks anymore
It is winter now.

The words pierced through the too bright cellphone screen
directly into the place she had always known that was true
               too much
He was not the first to tell her
He was not the first she had believed
                     “Less is more”
She had tried so many times to channel
But her love was:
a riptide
       a volcano
        a force of nature
It exploded in every direction
like riders in the desert in search of towns
with food
                         with water
                      with shelter
Her love was:
too hungry
               too thirsty
                  too weather worn
for its once agreeable host
Her host who had once said,
      “Let me drink you dry”
He found that there was no bottom
Only more of the same:
Insatiable. Hungry. Love.
And once he had drank his fill
He declared:
                                     “maybe I needed less.”

The obsession you have with the size of your hips.
They should be smaller,
Don't you think?
Oh, and be sure to do whatever it takes to have that thigh gap.
It's so worth it.
That thigh gap.
The more space the better.
The emptiness of your body.
The jutting collar bones.
Feeling dizzy.
Feeling depressed.
Worth every inch lost off your waist.
It is worth your once full and lushious hair now falling out like dead leaves.
Because you're dying.
You are killing yourself.
But it's all fine.
You're obsessed with telling yourself that it's all under control.
Isn't it?
Theres no sleep at night.
Not when your anxiety is this intense.
Not when your up planning how to skip the rest of the weeks meals.
Use that time to be productive.
Like right now.
Lying awake... obsessing.
Obsessing.
Obsessing.
But it's s all fine, right?
Because that thigh gap.
And bony fingers.
You're deliriously falling over every **** time you stand, and you think it's all still fine now?
You think it's still worth it?
Isn't it?

Silly me for thinking that of all your love could be mine.

True colors come to light, just in due time.