Gone Spoiled | TW

I feel it in my dwindled bones

My clumps of hair

The begging tone on my lips

In every prayer

I feel it in my frail legs

Trembling in each step

The sensation groveling beneath me

As my body wept

I feel it within my stomach

Discomfort, sick glee

Seeping through my organs

Which have never been less free

The goalpost is but a figment, something left behind

But no matter how much I rot, this mind is dissatisfied

I am loved

I am loved

People like me more

But I find myself

More sick than before

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