Binging is a form of self-love denial

Binging is a form of self-love denial.
I Filled up a bottomless well.
I feel unwell.
I feel my belly stretch and swell,
Pregnant with an unloved child,
Eating my insides,
Eating me alive.
My serotonin is drowning.
Unsure I change the rime and keep running,
On nothing.
Emptiness. Void. I’m learning to cope.
All my life I coped with books,
But they soon fell out of the scope.
Now I go about days, broke,
Hidden in the shadows.
Maybe dope will follow,
Or maybe if I spoke, to a shrink i mean,
I’d finally bloom into somebody.