The Harris-Benedict Principle

the walls are faded with dreams she could never quite let go

her bed sprawled with pale limbs and whispers in the dark

sodium stains on her pillow-she flips it over, a blank slate

echoes rattle in the cavernous space between costal grooves

she ignores it in favor of the quadratic curve of her stomach

a concave dip where mathematical precision manifests form high-order derivatives and caloric intake

her phone trembles on the bedside table

there are seventeen messages from a man whose hands know her better than the shape of her name in his mouth

she cannot predict his actions-equations cannot hold him like arms can

instead she stares at the ceiling that holds no answers

her lips roll through numbers

(1 : apple, 1 : cube of cheese, 3 : brussel sprouts)

as she counts herself to sleep

Published by Ren Martinez

Ren is a thirty-something Lost Boy whose personal aesthetic is “suspected of witchcraft by local villagers.” She subscribes to cheerful nihilism, the destruction of the patriarchy, and the belief that glitter makes everything better. She is a Richmond-based writer and performer who has fiction and non-fiction work found in a variety of publications, such as The Mary Sue, RVA Magazine, The Quotable, and Nostrovia Press. She is currently the fiction editor and a regular contributor at Quail Bell Magazine. She is also the co-host of the podcast, This F***ing Guy! Find out more at renmartinez.com or read her dumbass tweets on Twitter @itsrenmartinez

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