i was inside the hunger games, but it's not at all what you're thinking. it wasn't a game, and it's not the type of stomach rumbling, aching hunger you may be thinking of. i was starving, but not for any type of food. i was famished, in need of flesh to cling onto and hold; for a voice to fly down my throat, so far down that i could not throw it back up, i could not spit back up the words that you said when i was laying on that hotel bed, waiting for you to return all night, but you never did.
i am not thirsty because i have been drinking up your presence every second that you've been around, counting every breath, listening to every single heartbeat. boom. boom. boom. each beat of your heart is a tiny explosion that transfers into MY chest, into MY lungs, causing damage to me and only me.
you told me you did not want to leave.
you told me it was just a necessity.
that we would never work out.
and at the time, i was outraged because there was this beating in my chest but it was not my own heart because mine had died a long time ago.
you told me you did not want to leave.
and i believed you.
but as i waited in that hotel room,
behind the noises of the couple next door, behind the flesh covering my chest
a single heartbeat rang out.
YOU ARE READING
transparent people
Poesíamidnight thoughts from a girl who doesn't like following rules.
