you have mental problems you try to hide
in the fatigued, murky dark of your mind
where they fester and moulder and rot and devour
the covetous grey meat of your brain
you feel like you're shaking apart
like all your too large, too tight, too heavy pieces
are expanding, suffocating, imploding, disintegrating
until you're just muscle and veins over bone
with your fingers that pinch
and your eyes that degrade
you think you can change the way you were made
break down the cells and dissolve all the weights
undo the body you think that you hate
and the words that you think to break your own heart
and jam up your throat
and gut yourself wide
are nothing but lies and you know this, you do
but mind over matter's worth nothing
when the thing in the mirror smiles back at you
and tells you to shred your own skin
YOU ARE READING
collections of constellations and the stars || poetry collection
Poetrypoems often written at midnight, each telling its own story. an anthology of sorts. grammatically incorrect use of lowercase is an aesthetic choice and intentional. |incomplete|
