a nefarious dead-pan glance and

all I can think about is how I have

your favorite book tucked away, safe, 

because I want an excuse for my 

trembling hands and the constant

chugging of my mind at times, the ever-

present headache that originates in 

my stomach. I am hosting a 

cavernous black hole there 

that spreads it's lips 

wider and 

wider 

and

w   i     d             e             r

every day that washes over, 

leaving me a little paler a little thinner a 

little hungrier than 

before

I am s

         i

          n

            k

              i

               n

                 g.