- there is nothing left,
nothing but static. -

it hurts to write through this
buzzing in my ears, my hands, my –

(you know, yesterday i cried because i
[was] consumed [by] fire, fire,
smoke and ashes,
crumbling down my throat, dusty,
painful, dry)

– medication, but i am starve-binge-purge-repeat
(spincycle, tumbledryplease)
hollow on the inside,
huge in my ugly s(k)in.

and my (newest) problem is my inability
to figure out what i (am supposed to) want.

i'm la la lost, and it doesn't even matter
at least not by today's standards.

because, because, because i
managed to convince myself i was fine.

x . x. x . x

an. experimental, new. thoughts?