"I made you lunch!" I'm smiling sweetly, skirt and top and makeup and trying very hard to be the perfect girl.
"Where's your's?" Everyone will ask, smiling back plastic smiles and chewing.
"I'm not hungry," I tell them, still smiling, but it cracks at the edges, spiderwebbing glass.
I'm never hungry. I'm never fucking hungry. Perfection doesn't involve hunger. Aren't I so fucking perfect? 'Perfect figure', 'perfect face', that's what they say. Do I have perfect scars, too? Do I starve perfectly? Purge perfectly? Of course I do, I must not forget I'm the perfect girl.
So, fuck everyone. Fuck the phsycatrist, the nutritionist. Fuck the pills they want to give me - I won't take them. Anti-Depressants and anti-physcoticts are not for me. Fuck you all.
i won't let you say goodbye, and i'll be your reason why.
No comments:
Post a Comment