gymcel.jpg
md5: 4e4006be... 🔍
I miss the softness I buried,
the ease that once moved through me
when I could breathe without counting,
when hunger was only hunger,
not a ledger to be balanced.
Now every breath is measured,
every step rehearsed,
a body reduced to numbers
that never speak back.
The more precise I become,
the less alive I feel.
Every hunger is restrained,
not out of strength,
but fear of losing control.
What once nourished
now feels like failure;
a life carved into discipline
is a life hollowed out.
I wake to a rhythm I did not choose,
I sleep with a weight that does not rest.
The world outside fades,
blurred faces, forgotten voices
only the ritual remains,
a shrine to progress
that never arrives.
The mirror offers no comfort.
It shows only absence:
what I’ve cut away,
what I’ve denied,
what I’ve become.
In chasing perfection,
I have thinned myself
into nothing at all.
- Anon
the ease that once moved through me
when I could breathe without counting,
when hunger was only hunger,
not a ledger to be balanced.
Now every breath is measured,
every step rehearsed,
a body reduced to numbers
that never speak back.
The more precise I become,
the less alive I feel.
Every hunger is restrained,
not out of strength,
but fear of losing control.
What once nourished
now feels like failure;
a life carved into discipline
is a life hollowed out.
I wake to a rhythm I did not choose,
I sleep with a weight that does not rest.
The world outside fades,
blurred faces, forgotten voices
only the ritual remains,
a shrine to progress
that never arrives.
The mirror offers no comfort.
It shows only absence:
what I’ve cut away,
what I’ve denied,
what I’ve become.
In chasing perfection,
I have thinned myself
into nothing at all.
- Anon
