Confusion and Chicken Tenders

I am

hunched

over the sink

in the Wendy's bathroom,

my hair

tumbling over my eyes,

nearly past my nose. 

I can feel my

lungs

aching from the breath

as my insides escape,

sliding down the drain. 

I am releasing my

soul

into the ceramic bowl,

letting my tears run with it.

I can feel the prickling of

eyes, 

watching,

screaming;

and I can only watch helplessly

as the walls contort into blackness.

I know my insides are not

dark,

they are

clear

like the contacts

you forced into your eyes

every morning. 

The lack of food and

absense of water

has turned me into an opaque beauty. 

And yet it’s still not enough. 

Its never enough.