there was once a girl who was never hungry. who would have thought that a few careless statements could steal away an appetite?
or what was once a full moon could slowly disappear into nothing at all?
oh, to be full of nothing but air, the pain relieved by the feeling of floating.
wasting away to the vastness of space,
what a wonderful place,
to take up no space.
but maybe it’s different when your clothes become drapes.
and maybe it’s different when you can’t run at the same pace.
can’t see, can’t feel,
can’t
breathe.
when the mirror is your enemy and the scale is your savior,
how does it feel to be full of air?
air, air, and nothing but air.
i hope she realizes that air, air, is nothing at all.
no presence, no life, not even a voice.
it’s just a whisper.
and to be full of air isn’t floating, it isn’t rising,
it’s sinking
and sinking.
compressible, malleable,
invisible.
i’d tell her to be fire, that makes air rise,
because air, air,
is nothing
after all.