You're not even hungry.
But, by God, are you sad.
And you want to fill up the emptiness
with whatever's at hand.
And you're so fucking useless.
You're just simply pathetic.
So you eat, and you eat,
until you feel sick.
And then you lay back on your bed,
and you try not to vomit.
Even though that food in your gut
Is forcing its way up your throat.
And you still feel so empty.
But your body is numb.
And you're paralysed by stupidity,
at what you've fucking done.
You weren't even hungry.
And, by God, you're still sad.
You tried to fill up that emptiness
with whatever's at hand.
But darling, I've got you.
It's okay, now, I'm here.
You're not so empty, now,
That your dearest is near.
A/N don't try and fill up your emptiness with food. It doesn't work, sweethearts.
YOU ARE READING
Screaming off the Cliff
PoetryPoetry assembled from the very depths of a deranged mind. Trigger warning. Tragedy ensues.