The tight grip on my chest

making breathing laborious

accents the cold that seeps in past layers

cutting icy knives into my skin

its a manic high of being alive

the winter sun too bright

my bones to shallow beneath my skin

a cigarette breakfast for company

I remember those feelings wistfully

with full knowledge I shouldn’t

for I was lean grace and agony

starving away my flesh and soul

Some days I tiptoe back

towards that heady precipice

the sky rush of empty caverns inside

and dizzy days of fierce tortured accomplishment

Its hard to fight off the courtship

with death and self consumption

when you feel most alive when starving

the closer to death the more bright the colors

Each day a forced resolution

to find a healthier happiness

each day convincing the self

we won’t go back, we’ve chosen to live