Dry dry dry
Heaving
Door is locked and no one home
In this body.
My fingers caress the inside of my throat at first
Then they beckon
And then they scratch and claw, they force
There is nothing left to leave my body
The dark circles and pointy elbows
Bruises and weird yellow hair
Passing out after walking a pace
I am going to be so beautiful
YOU ARE READING
Favorite Doors
PoetryAn art-school bound senior with scars on her wrists A classic American lacrosse star with bruises on his face and drugs in his body And a gifted thespian who spends her free time in front of a toilet, vomitting. This is a tale of oppression, sufferi...
