how can one body pack so many pounds of ugly feeling, then aim it directly towards itself. it’s not right. it’s not the way to success and future glamourshine. hold on i have to go make some tea.
and cream, and sugar, and butterfat. down her throat into the belly, bypassing nutrition due to craving for a rush of satiation. she’s a stuffed animal: limbs bloated, squishy face, slightest sorrow at the corner of each eye to evoke tender feelings, maybe pity. huggable but heavy as sin.
she told me eating is a maze with no solution; every turn is wrong, you keep going in circles, and there is no point. she could die like that. waiting in line to get a permission slip for sanity, maybe another for kindness if the day is lucky.