.


apples and anxiety

i stare at
a decaying apple
tilted and gruesome
by the table

it is
barely
devoured.

red and pristine,
like the blood
on my chapped lips.

once again
my appetite
retreats

unaware
of the flecks of fruit-skin
underneath my fingernails,
i bite
my lips again.

my mind is
seething
and
alone.

trying to escape
such an encumberance.
trying to ignore
the fate
of my flesh.

my body
rebels
and i find a horrible comfort
in knowing
my physical condition
reflects my mental

like a mirror
broken by lovers
that fight, but will never
leave
one another.




Poetry by anguisette
Read 427 times
Written on 2006-09-24 at 07:39

Tags Blood  Anorexia  Food 

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