☆ I was hungry when I typed this

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im a viewer in my own mind, my feelings no longer mine                                                                                                          im nothing more than a host hoping to at least keep my soul. I crave to be soft to be clouded with emotions but only reflect light yet I come up empty everytime

the black coffee in my mug compliments how sad my eyes have gotten with time and I’m afraid i’ve become something im not. I wait for the toasters timer to stop but its set up to take its time                                                                        it’s at the right temp so my bagel can be warm at my embrace but that’s breakfast and if I were a pastry I’d be a cinnamon pop tart placed in a microwave.                                                                packaged cold,                                                                                                  constantly having to have minutes added to it to be somewhat warm

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