The Absolute Goddamn Truth

You want me to talk about the realness of this - fine

I believe I am so depressed that it should be a disability

I feel like my insides are rotting and turning into

A mush of mucus and phlegm that is begging to be

Cleaned up like the way society threatens to sweep us

Under the rug like were bugs or rather less than that

 

I checked my weight today and I've lost 10 pounds

My ribs can be seen and my skin looks pale

I am scared of living, and so maybe I can starve to death

Slowly but surely and sometimes I like it, the pain

The way my stomach seems to cave in on itself and my brain

Is weightless for a few moments all the time I am clear

Like a cloud.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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