more of a status update, really

I have not enjoyed reading for what seems like forever. I used to read a book a night. I have taken two weeks to read half of one book and when I pick it up I am unable to understand it, like it's in Japanese or something and all of the letters look like pound signs.

In school yesterday I cried for a good part of the day, but when people asked me why my face looked like a funeral I wouldn't tell them. I couldn't tell them. I am absolutely obligated to never say anything about her bird-bones or I will lose her. I have already lost so many things. I am watching my childhood wilt, petal by petal.

When I see her, I want to shove food into her fucking face and down her fucking throat until she is so stuffed she will not move, ever again. I want to push her, hit her, kick her, kill her, make her bleed, make her eat. I want her to look at me and know that I have not tasted anything in the past month. I want her to look at me and know that I have not written anything in the past month. I want her to look at me and know that I have not loved anything in the past month. I want to do all of these things, and yet, the thing I want least is to break her.

I hold a porcelain doll so close to my heart that the two have become intertwinably fragile. I am wilting into a thousand pieces of porcelain.