It is funny how only when I fall back to my sickness,
Do I realise I was never free from it to begin with.
The caloric calculator in my mind never really switches off,
I simply silenced it for a short while.
The urge to count is always there,
It is there when I eat three meals a day,
It is there when I eat nothing.
For calories and numbers, once mere meassurements,
Have become both my worst nightmares,
And my greatest friends.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the Pained
PoëzieA collection of words both happy and sad strewn together to create awful poetry.
