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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Psychology · #2314469
personal poem
Another meal, another bag,
Another crumb, another retching into basins.
More fuel, more emptying of my tank,
More energy, less clarity.

And with clarity comes the angels,
Their feathers tickle my delicate skin.
Crystal tears trickle, empty stomach whispers,
Empty stomach, empty mind.

I collect my secrets in a trinket dish,
I keep it on the highest shelf.
And at night, I stare at the crystals,
I smell the hidden bag,
And I taste the clarity on my tongue as the acid bubbles,
And the regret is flooded away.

I cannot let myself go,
I tell myself this and I don’t tell anyone else.
My bare feet slam onto the scale,
And my knees buckle from the weight of the forced energy.
I shovel and shovel down, down,
And don’t dig it back up with my nicotine-flavored fingers.

It simmers in bitter acid that I wear on my tongue,
And it fogs my clarity.
My lungs are squeezed by plump fingers,
My heart strangled by skinny measuring tapes.

The food makes my insides claustrophobic,
And my mind agoraphobic.
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