tie my hands behind my back, bind my mouth, ban me from grocery
stores, gas stations, refrigerators, won't you? let me wrestle this empty hole
inside me until we come to some sort of stalemate, some agreement of shared
responsibility. a good old fashioned siege. scalding hot oil if you cross the
threshold.
my tongue is cracked my lips are cracked my throat swollen, head
a-flutter. hunger is an active verb for which i have no definition. hunger is
3500kcal splattered in porcelain. hunger is having nothing inside. hunger is
nothing. fullness is another nothing. throwing up is forced admittance that i
am, in fact, alive.
i am lying. hunger is not nothing. hunger is all of it. but
mostly in the figurative.
i'd like a divorce please. from myself. i'd like to split off
and get out of here, take what's mine and run. where to? what's mine? like
trying to sever from your shadow which is not even thin enough late in the day
when it's stretched and lean. stop reminding me i exist. stop reminding me i
have enough mass to block out that bit of light. stop reminding me of the black
faceless miasma coiling in my gut.
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