it's times like these
remind me why i count each calorie
weigh each time i rise
pinch my skin and suck in
why i scowl at the plate
it's times like these that remind me who i'll never be
the face i'll never come close to replicating
a feverish dream i reach to replace
it's times like these that remind me why i keep the same solemn song on repeat
perhaps my sadness is a backstabbing comfort that i sink into again and again
because with everything i need at my hands and feet
i curl into my rotting spot
and i wonder
so have i given enough?
can i erase the wound of your memory?
the sword once driven in my side
still sits in its bloody home
why can i not kill them?
because could you?
perhaps the anchor of a memory has dug itself far into your shore
and you cannot
or do not desire to
dig it out
the way i burned each crevasse
oblivious it seems
each dawn i am reminded by an intruder
that theft my blanket of safety
you will cover my limbs in a warmth
that my brain will only uncover
to reveal an unkept bed
and a blood stain
who am i
to wish on a reoccurring explosion of light?
