57

I know. I know this sounds "namby-pamby" or effeminate, even. 

But I couldn't care less. I can't keep it in much longer.

In the morning the first things I feel when I wake up 

are the minute fat globules rolling over each other,

all around my inner thighs.

I reach down and pinch the flab,

letting out a sigh.

This only means another day I lose track of what's important.

I get blinded by the picture of ripples coming to sight 

if I were to slap myself in the thigh or bum.

The image repeats in my head, over and over,

as I go about my life on the outside.

Morning. Day. Night. And then it starts all over again.

In the inside I'm all worn and jaded,

like a rusted movie reel playing the same thing over and over.

I am obsessed.

You say I'm fine. You say I look great.

But that's never enough. What everyone says is never adequate,

Why? Simple.

You don't see what I do through my eyes.

Problem.

That's the problem.

I can't look at myself other than through these eyes and this brain.

These organs are broken, aren't they?

I can't see what everyone can see in me.

My blood is poisoned, my brain is damaged,

my eyes are blinded, my bones have vanished, 

my skin is paper, my heart is tired.

Sometimes my heart screams, but nothing really happens.

Everyday I hope something in me changes,

but the rain comes down and washes progress away,

and I'm back to square one.

I wish I could halt this, it's wearing me out.

It's been half a decade, and my time could be running out.

From the inside it burns me, it's killing me.

I wish I could stop this demon inside of me,

but it's not that easy.

I am thankful, genuinely grateful, 

for all I have. Sincerely.

I only detest this dark being sleeping inside me,

which I have been cursed with my entire life.