Fast

Gnawing and eating

at my insides

hands clasped in prayer

 

Words fall from my lips

in reverent devotion

 

My body grows

thin and sharp

bones poking through

sleeves of sagging skin

 

Every saint did suffer

to be divinely pure

I suffer in his name

to be beautiful

in his eyes

 

But I look into the glass

and am not satisfied.

Author's Note

Pure, raw hunger.

Reviews

[quinfinn]

this is the ultimate fast fest, but...can't decide the intention here. are we speaking of intentional deprivation or something more metaphorical? nicely woven, but confusing.

[Sam]

Wonderful poem. The whole thinkg paints a picture in my head.

[penNhand]

Written proof that words paint pictures of truth.