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My wretched gut
I feel disgusted, my stomach is a bulge just shy of getting interpreted as my breast.
Something’s stuck in my throat, a eerie darkness, I wish it to disappear along with everything inside.
My mind, a body that surges scorching hot with disappointment, helplessness, a rebel when someone makes themselves involved with my eating habits.
I would rather starve than be this swallower getting swallowed.
Purple would be the color as my insides get suffocated.
I poison myself just to prove that I could die, I would.
So, no noise is made again to say how little I eat without staying inside this falling castle.
I start the renovation just for a dropped pin, a creak of the window, a rustle of nothingness to break everything.
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