The smell of food hits my throat
And I begin to choke on the invisible calories.
With each breath it feels like another mouthful,
I breathe out to expel the emptiness within.
I hunger for nothing but hunger itself,
Still the memory of its ache lingers in my mind,
Reminding me of the pain I see in your eyes.
Am I not so much more pretty this way?
Why wish to be the voluptuous rose,
When you can be as sharp and as brittle as the thorn.
-JRR
YOU ARE READING
Dying Song (poetry)
Poetryjust some stuff I made. !TW! Contains vague talk of SH, suicide, ED and general mental illness. -JRR
