sombre

safflower eulogies

1:11 AM - sunday august 22nd

i can feel their eyes on me‚ even when i'm alone. they lurk in the corners of my vision‚ like phantoms‚ flitting just beyond the reach of reason. strangers in my own mind‚ whispering their judgments‚ their accusations‚ their twisted perceptions. i've long stopped trying to explain them away-after all‚ how do you reason with the unreasonable?

the mirror is a liar‚ i've decided. it tells stories of a girl who doesn't exist‚ a girl who has disappeared beneath layers of skin that don't feel like mine. i stare at her sometimes‚ wondering when she'll crack‚ when the surface will shatter and spill her secrets. i know she's hiding them-how else could she wear that face? that face that's too round‚ too full‚ too wrong.

my stomach churns‚ a hollow ache that gnaws at the edges of my sanity. i tell myself i'm in control‚ that i can stop this spiral whenever i choose. but the truth is‚ i don't want to stop. the emptiness is a friend‚ a familiar comfort that fills the void left by everything else. the less i eat‚ the more i feel like i'm disappearing‚ shrinking away from the gaze of the strangers that haunt me. it's a relief‚ really-to become so small that i might slip between the cracks‚ unnoticed‚ forgotten.

but they see me. i know they do. i can hear them‚ their voices a constant hum in the back of my mind‚ rising and falling with every bite i don't take. "she's weak‚" they hiss‚ a chorus of voices that sound like mine‚ yet aren't. "she's failing." they crawl beneath my skin‚ burrowing into the marrow of my bones‚ making me question what's real and what's not. i press my hands against my temples‚ as if i can squeeze them out‚ but they only dig in deeper‚ their claws scraping against the inside of my skull.

i haven't slept in days. the night is too loud‚ too full of whispers and shadows that twist into shapes i can't escape. every rustle of the sheets‚ every creak of the floorboards is a warning‚ a sign that they're closer‚ that they're waiting for me to slip. i lie in bed‚ staring at the ceiling‚ watching as the dark folds in on itself‚ swallowing the light that seeps in through the curtains. the walls pulse with the rhythm of my heartbeat‚ a steady thump-thump-thump that matches the ticking of the clock on the nightstand. it's counting down‚ i know it is-to what‚ i can't be sure‚ but the dread claws at me are all the same.

sometimes i wonder if i'm the stranger‚ the one who doesn't belong. the people i pass on the street-they seem so sure‚ so grounded in their bodies, in their lives. i envy them‚ their ease‚ their untroubled gazes that never waver‚ never flicker with the doubt that gnaws at me. but i see it in their eyes‚ the way they glance at me‚ then quickly look away‚ as if they've caught a glimpse of something they weren't supposed to see. i can't blame them. i don't want to look at me either.

the hunger is always there‚ a persistent gnawing that i both hate and crave. it's not just in my stomach-it's in my mind‚ too‚ a black hole that devours every thought‚ every shred of hope or sanity i might have left. i feed it with silence‚ with solitude‚ with the taste of nothing on my tongue. but it's never enough. it wants more. it wants everything.

"maybe i'm already gone‚" i whisper to the girl in the mirror‚ but she doesn't answer. she just stares back‚ her eyes hollow‚ her face pale and stretched thin over sharp bones. i wonder if she hears them too‚ if the strangers in my head have found their way into hers. i wonder if she's as lost as i am‚ wandering through a maze of fears and doubts that lead nowhere‚ circling the same paths over and over until the lines between reality and delusion blur.

but then again‚ maybe she's the one who's real‚ and i'm just the echo‚ fading into the dark.