she holds my hand,
and whispers at my reflection,
then hollows out
my insides

Every queen must have a throne,
but mine is cheap and flimsy.
A plastic chair made in China,
worth less than a dollar,
swaying under my weight.
To stay from falling,
whenever I sit,
I keep myself light and fit.
I stay perched in reticence,
balancing the paper crown
upon my jaded head.
As tendrils of brown hair,
fall to the floor in plain.
Hands and feet crossed,
bound in leather and chains.

Spent days trying to grow my brain
And shrink my waist.

it takes one hour, three glasses of water,
and the breath of morning between first awakened yawn and turning the shower faucet on,
bare bodied, stepping on the plate to present myself to the cold, small, square
an exhibit
a self examination
i'd say that those three numbers will dictate what kind of day i will have, because obviously,
it could only be good or bad,
but i will hate myself whether or not the number is less or more than the one before
and my last good day was about 15 pounds ago

spring is a thick, white fog
silence of a room with nothing but a fan on
messed up blinds and paranoia
and lots
and lots
of porcelain

I have a scar on my right hand, directly below my ******* knuckle.
It is from my teeth digging into my skin while I shoved my fingers down my throat.
It is from me trying to rid myself of hate,
To rid myself of ugly.
To rid myself of the thought that, "I am not worthy if I am fat".

It has been exactly 1 year and 3 months since I last forced myself to *****.
And I can tell.
I can see every single calorie that was not purged,
Every single pound that my body has held on to,
And every single ***** look in the mirror.

But for some reason, you don't see that.
You undress me and you call me beautiful.
It makes me want to *****.
You touch me and i flinch.
You tell me you love me and I ask how?

The only time I feel worthy is when I'm gagging into a toilet bowl with swollen eyes.

I could not tell you why
Or how
How many
Or when it starts
If it will end
But I can tell you one thing, dear friend
The aftermath is more detrimental than
Nuclear weapons at the hands of evil
Restrict, binge, repeat
The Devil himself spoon feeds my mind
Restrict, binge, repeat
Every time
Restrict, binge, repeat
It's a cycle that has swallowed me, too
I fear this will become my life
Or be there always
Haunting me to the grave
Restrict, binge, repeat