In this, my Skin.

It folds and swells and curves,
this form I wear,
a balloon of human body
next to the willowy form of you.

A material concern,
cosmetic at best,
unimportant in the world of things,
and still it occupies all of me.

This obsession drips
into every corner of my mind,
this disease, it feasts on our love,
nourished by my insecurity.

Mixed in with our love making
is this hatred making for myself.
The fault is mine, the darkness is mine,
my beloved, innocent bystander.

Addiction is slipping in again,
and I fear to name it’s being.
Yet it owns me, set on an image
it would take my life in achieving.

I know it’s power to ravage,
I know it’s power to destroy.
Leaving only imperfectly thin,
perfectly dead me, to be with you.

Sick and twisted
are these haunting thoughts,
screaming for my attention,
in this, my skin.