Baby don’t tell me I’m beautiful because we both know you only love me when I’m thin so I won’t tell you I’m digging my own grave out of skipped meals and you can pretend you don’t love the negative space more than you could ever love this body that once filled it and when you hug me don’t tell me I’m wonderful because I know you can dance your fingers across the plane of skin suspended between my jutting hips and when you kiss me don’t tell me I’m sexy because we both know these are the lips of a drowned woman, my instrument of choice happened to be emptiness and the freezing cold that comes along with it so let us suspend ourselves here, tied together with these things unspoken and you can hold me close because there’s not much left to love anymore, you can feel my heartbeat fluttering in this rotting cage of my ribs as I smile so you don’t see that my shoulder-blades are razors to this paper skin and damn, baby, this hurts but maybe one day I’ll have wings.