Nothing is wrong.
I keep getting chilled to the bone. These infections hurt, both physically and self-confidence wise. I find comfort in the things that taste pretty, but the solace is only temporary. I grow wider, and with each glance my eyes are a little blinder . . . a little duller. Remorse after the final bite - was it worth it? Cracked skin, cut knees. I want to be babied. Where are you when I need you? It's hard to function, and my appearance gives it away. Haggardness doesn't come easily as it's a relentless process that kills the looks slowly, but feverishly.
