each mouthful a creation, of
chaos + war + destruction
within.

 the necessity is too much;
hands clutching temples,
you cannot fathom a life like this.

 make it stop.

 guilt pours hot and raw down your
throat,
flows through your
stomach-
scrutinize, cause pain, 
know where you have failed,
what you have done wrong.
feel.

 room for improvement.

 on the edge / fall in; all in.

 knees
knobbly,
wrists 
embody daintiness,
spine 
protrudes through layers upon layers,

 ethereal.
passing through.

 every last bit given away,

 look at yourself, 
and the skeleton that looks back.
maybe she’ll say 
at last
it’s finally
enough.

-Antoinette Dillon