Regan's Art Room
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Consume me,
Crawl into my cranium.
Clicking, crackling, creaking.
Every word comes out
Guilt’s mouth;
First a trickle then a
As the morning light breaks
over the palms,
Trickling through the open windows
Tickling my soft smile,
As the aroma of toast and butter
wash through the room.
All is quiet, only the morning birds
“You’re beautiful;
Even if you don’t know it”
As if the body I look at in the mirror is suitable,
Yet the heart weighs down the spirit.
The lines on my thighs,
