Throwing lunch away

I don't wanna eat. The smell of the warm dish makes me sick. I don't actually smell it. It's in my nostrils but I'm not here. Disconnected. I look at my hands to paint and make myself sick because of how girly they look. I hug my legs for comfort n feel disgusted by this body. I hear a name being called that someone engraved on my skin long ago and now the scab keeps falling, the blood goes back to running, and it will make the biggest never ending painful scar. I don't wanna be perceived. And I don't wanna perceive myself. I can't change n this time I'm not referring to my horrible personality. I can't change but I can't even accept it. And I can't scream or I'll hear the wrong voice come out.

Lunch is wasted today

But so is my life

It doesn't matter 

Rice on the plate or in my stomach, no difference made.