I met this guy...

I met this guy, he is really fucking beautiful, even though he doesn't know it. I've been fantasising about him. Deep, dark, dirty kinds of thoughts furling and unfurling in my imagination, warping my brain chemistry, distorting reality. I want to feel him. But I can't feel him, i can't feel anything becuase the whole world belongs to this body, this body that sways in and out of focus in the mirror, in plate glass doors, stretching across the shining surfaces of new textbooks, seeping to the recesses of a cellphone screen. But my reflection isn't soemthing I can only see, it's inside me, in my head. It's like a posionous vapour invading my world. When I cry the vapours seep out, and when I laugh I hear their gasious fumes shrieking through the mechanisms between my ears. everything is tainted by it. I am not free, i was never free, i can never be free, not until i am thin. not until i am thin. never, until i am thin. there is nothing, will never be anything beyond immense self-loathing in the face of the endless desire to be thin. I can't touch myself. Can't look at myself. And when the world forces me I cannot see myself. because when i do i just want to wrap my arms around myself, grabbing the fat at my less-than-bonified hips, and fall to the floor and weep for a thousand years. I hope and i pray, but mostly i am just seized by pain, the pain of failure, and of loss, and of never having, never deserving the touch of any man that i want. I am unworthy. I am vile and revolting. And i am alone, and i am lonely, i am forever, i am a single second, i am one tear, and twenty thousand, i am a human cesspit that brings degradation, i putrify the air around me, and i am alone, i am alone, i am alone. This is not desperation. It is a way of being, a way of knowing yourself and knowing the world, a way across the earth, and it is the only path i have left to travel.