Early evening descending, hungry, hungry...
clawing needy into brain.
An anchor rests in my intestines; tangled there amongst the ropes -- that sinking feeling that hauls down flesh and chisels bone
sharp tongue. never doing good -- why can it be so hard to just spit out the words;;
I love you. I miss you.
I feel you're too good for me.
Because I'm not good enough for myself.
Never enough is the summation of every mirrorside glance and passing glimpse of reflection
semi-starvation doing nothing and restless nights just leading to
makeup smeared and BMI ticking up, up.
Avoiding the words with pinpricks and swords, daggers, shielding