Hunger

I hate myself. I hate myself to the extent where I avoid looking in mirrors, In fear of the ugly monster that's hiding behind it. The deformed smile that dares to even grow over its face, Even though it knows it doesnt deserve it. The lies of happiness that it goads me into believing, Only to lure me into a trap that I knew waited at the end of the road. A pit filled with the unbeckoned rage, That hides behind that disgusting tilt of the lips. I hate myself so much that I welcome the imperfections that it graces my skin with. I hope that one day I’ll return home painted in blacks and blues, That will eventually fade to ugly yellows and greens. I welcome the copper that overflows on my skin, Bright like the steel that it told me to draw with. But no matter how many times it tells me to do it again, To cover my canvas of imperfect skin with my beautiful artwork of reds and pinks, The blemishes and extra folds that I desperately tuck away never leave. I hate myself enough that I weep with joy when it pulls me into a cold embrace, Fingers ghosting my eyelids and pulling me back, Blinding me so I can’t see the way it destroys me. It intrudes and violates my every pore, Sinking into me and flooding my senses, Making it hard to breathe in anything but the vile stench of bitter disgust. All the repulsive and sickening marks and extra space, Only intersinfy as it deepens. And so now I don't just hate myself, I hate It too. When I look in the mirror it doesn't stare back at me like it once did, Instead it’s vulgar form looms large behind me, Draping itself over me like an unwanted blanket on a blistering day. It directs the madness, Feeding off of my starved need to be rid of it, That violently clashed with my desperation for it to stay. Its want for my pain only grew alongside mine, And I found solace in its hunger.