Starved

i thought i got better, but maybe i didn't

The empty breaks through my abdomen.

My god, I am STARVING.

Where did the full go, and when will it return?
Will this belly always burn?

Oh god, I am wilting!
The meadows ache into dust.

She yearned for only a fortnight,
yet here I am:

five-years wasted
two-toned drunk
spitroast & spitfire

picking your scabs from under my fever thumb.

Do you still taste my Magdalena
Wine when you wear your Calvin
Klein? When you kick your left foot
into the back of her knees,

do you still wish it was me?

---

hey Alya, where are the prompts?!

oh, they are laced throughout, bay beeeee. Thanks to these buds for enhancing this poem:

• Lyla Shield // shield.of.armour // spitroast, spitfire

• Kaitlyn Sun // sad.magical.girl // fever

That puts us at thirty-eight prompts now. Thank you for reading! This crybaby poet adores you all! ◝(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ◜♡