Trepidation of forward motion, is this healing
or perpetuation?

                   Rhythmic lullaby of misery quiets,
makes me believe I am whole as the sun yet
months from becoming something beautiful.

My sorrow is intangible, my body is here,
so here I am finding control where I can.

Find me pretending I believe in happiness
while I thin to the bone as the moon does,
emaciating under the guise of my peace.

Walk to clear my head,
                                            my stomach,
                                                                     my life
into that empty sky,  blue as thoughtlessness.

Falsify my adoration of movement, of change,
dance as though it is without compulsion,

move like the snake in the garden,
coiled
around the image I desire but cannot take.

My heart dissolves like a bad fruit, waning 
into a sliver of itself.
                                Watch me eat myself alive.