ribs

porcelain makes me pure

clean and white as bleached bones

pressed up against skin

 

sickly romanticization

oh how I adore you

disgustingly hollow, feed me ice

 

I love the feeling

of emptiness

I hate the self awareness

of disease

 

forgive me

 

a rice cake with green tea

as bland as air

barely preferable

 

it’s only grown worse

eat me alive

chew through my ribs

there is nothing left