The more I expect the less I get. The bigger the appetite the more I forget just how much my stomach can hold, the way you used to hold me is inadequate, the food I liquidate makes me constantly hungry, so I eat even if there is no space to taste how delicious this all is. I can only feel the hunger now, and the fatter I get the more empty I feel inside, where you used to be, when I was capable of feeling still, the constant Americanization of requirements for emotional fulfillment, what am I seeking, the trophy of winning or the joy of playing, because right now I am losing on both fronts, and the war has gotten stale, the soldiers wasting away, I see you: seasoned and reasoned, walking away, having seen that this war is done, even if it isn’t finished
When I used to be skinny, everything poked out from my skin, selfsufficient hurt upon contact with the chair, wall, the bed that wasn’t quite soft enough to make for my lack of body. Now I stand with weight, padded against the things that hurt, the chair, the wall, the floor and your body. When I used to feel everything, I now feel nothing, the before and after equally painful.
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