like a coward, like a freak,
she sits and stares in the middle of the night.
what is next, she needs something to eat.
starving and empty,
flushed red and turning blue,
her mouth is still, and it needs to be working,
chewing, grinding… anything but sitting still,
it is in these moments the pain is too much too strong to endure
physical – emotional – mental or imagined,
it comes in all shapes sizes and fashions
breaking codes, like a professional con
vanished and warped the next time, like a bum, just holding on
for dear life…
it echos on the walls
it is not dear at all.
thousands of dollars wasted, checks flushed down the toilet
toilet, yeah, thats another thing,
forget it, she’s seen em all, and they’re all full of it
media reports scream- “oh it is the supermodels and actresses”
HA! but her soul knows better and she laughs at those prefaces
if they only had a clue.
it’s not an after dinner thing, or a one night fling
its a way of life, its relief at its finest.
noon and 2am
his name is ed, her
forever best friend.
LAME. LAME. you have such lame analogies.
so shut up NOW and make your apologies.
drugs, booze, bloody arms or poker hands,
theyre infatuations… addictions…. all equivalent to my swollen glands.
scrutinized bodies, spread out like a table
photoshopped to spotless, and flashed across our cables.
hopeful and hopeless, invisible or not
she holds on,
for her life,
on the spot.