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  • the night she spent driving from Denny's to Denny's until she died from overeating, briefly speaking. more specifically from an exploded stomach and arteries clogged shut with bright blue fear.
    those weeks she slept in her clothes so they would still fit her in the morning waking up in a house flooded with congealed sweat.
    those days trapped in a body crazy with bloating and bent on self destruction afraid of mirrors unable to shower for the toxic nakedness bleeding with self loathing crippled with corpulence.
    afraid to move at work. afraid to even walk. breathing loudly with a strained metabolism. her insides overstimulated and miasmic too hot when she had always been too cold asking too much not enough in the wrong places at the wrong times wringing the neck of rightness with still hands and limpid heart. what is beating beats with a desperation like a fish thumping against the earth for the evolving construction of self.
    I tell them I am going to physical therapy and actually that's not far off. it's like learning how to eat all over again. and I keep failing like that hand on the side of your body taken by the stroke. it's so hard to lift it just a centimeter. I know.

    i wish we had danced before they took the left side of your body, my beautiful.
    I wish we had danced before it became that the only thing I could consume was my own mind.

    how do they eat? I am amazed.
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