note to self: if you
•wash down ten breath mints (one calorie each) with two cups of warm water (using the measuring glass hidden under your bed, beside the glass scale, beside the kitchen knife sharpening itself as preparation for brown skin in a glass case),
and
•hold your breath long enough for the hunger lingering in your muscles to asphyxiate,
and
•also lie to your mother and father and Jesus Christ by claiming a nonexistent stomachache just so you can pretend to vomit in the upstairs bathroom (with the deadbolt on the door and the broken toilet) instead of eating,
you feel as full as the foursome shoveling scoops of seasoned chicken and collard greens and apple pie with whipped cream on top (which had been your favorite thing, at some point, many centuries ago) downstairs, opening their cavernous mouths and hollowed brains that didn't quite know the Red Death (the brief experience of hell that is the tipping of the scale between one hundred twenty and one hundred twenty-one) as well as you do, all in the name of taking the only socially acceptable poison there is: food.
A/N: im gonna submit this to arthoecollective ahh!! also happy sunday! also go send a happy birthday message 2 the loml t'oni <3 privatequeers have a blessed week everyone
YOU ARE READING
OPEN-BRAIN SURGERY
Poetryshoved a needle in my brain and now my head won't stop bleeding
