My craving for attention is making way,
Because the ones closest to me don't care what I say.
I long for it all the time,
But maybe that's why my kindness is hard to find.
My lingering sadnesses makes me feel empty,
But that's why there's food, and there's plenty.
Food is like a sponge that soaks up the pain,
It gives you a high, satisfies your brain.
That's where my downfall is you see,
This food I talk about is my ecstasy.
I guess you can say I have an addiction,
Because it makes my sorrow feel like fiction.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from an atelophobic
PoesiaWarning: These poems may or may not be triggering. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This is a book with random poems, but it's not complete ( ˘ω˘ )
