Blood rushes to my head
My sleeping consciousness
Means my plan is working
It's become apparent
my American apparel
Donning apparatus
Is losing elasticity
If it kills me my waistline
Will be nonexistent
The kids call it snatched
A nutritionist calls it sickening
Hideous disfigurement
Slim wrists are easier to slice
And Cara looks just like me
YOU ARE READING
Fabergé eggs: A collection of poems by Alexander Hopper
PoetryA collection of poems I wrote while I was at the lowest point of my life.
