Empty

For Whimsical Depression poem contest. Trigger Warning.

My hands are shaking

my eyes are full

of crystals of salt

that roll 

and melt to liquid into 

my mouth.

It's not something that I can 

control

But i'm 

really trying

to put down

the blade in my

hands 

they are covered in 

blood.

I'ts not my fault that

everyone around

me

acts as if I

don't exist.

They are the scars

on my hands

and my 

wrists and my

thighs.

Cellulite isn't the half

of it

its mostly the

words that

come with 

it.

She's just curvy

fat-a*s

Gross

ugly

Thunder thighs

If only i

didn't

feel so

empty.

Maybe then their

words would sting.