My mistakes often fall out of my pockets in the form of candy wrappers
Food for thought
This food for death
I'd rather die when I look in the mirror and yank away from my own reflection
All these diets and pills can't fix me
They don't understand me
Why...
Do I punish a body made for living like this
No physical scars but the secret is out
I'm ashamed of my flesh
Nothing much to see of it now
Crave for food
Second guess
Drink some oxygen instead
Feel full, feel full
Lying to myself
All this effort for nothing
I still look the same
Empty my pockets
And my mistakes fall out again
YOU ARE READING
Exposed
PoetryA few poems from a darker time in my life. Never published them because they were too personal but things are better out than in. Enjoy!
