Sky 1d
I hear the same, bitter word on repeat
And it still shakes me to my very core
  “I loved you once, but nevermore”
His veneer of love had fallen apart
And now I am left with a knife in my heart
    Do you know how much I ache?
I’m shattered and cold, and now I quake
“Beyond the sunrise, ‘tis you that I adore,
     But our love shall go on, nevermore”

I wept for a love that is beyond repair
I wept for my heart, shaking in despair
I wept for a man with a smile so rare
Who destroyed the heart of a maiden fair
So faithful was I, for I would never forswear
A man with a love that left me gasping for air
Wouldst thou ****** me? wouldst thou dare?
You left my love bleeding, raw, *****, and bare
I said that I’d die for you, or go to war!
But once again, you said “Nevermore”
My wounds gush blood, and my soul is sore
But thine eyes and lips said “Nevermore”
Thy words are scattered, running hither and thither
But filled with such compassion, leaving my lips aquiver
Was I just an object of **** that your body outwore?
But still, you shuddered and said “Nevermore”
I will give you money and gold and diamonds galore!
But still, you scoffed and said “Nevermore”
Now, I sit here forlorn, and feeling heartsore
“You make me melancholy, darling”
And then he left, without another word, and I sat there and quoted “Nevermore” ~
Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven”
Sky 3d
If you could travel back in time
And meet yourself as a little child
What would you tell yourself?

If I could travel back in time
And meet myself as a little child
I would tell her, that she’s perfect just the way she is. That she’s fine.  She’s so fine, that she doesn’t need to be anything else.  Her small, growing body does NOT deserve to go through years of starvation and self-induced vomiting like it did.  She didn’t need to stick her fingers down her throat to look like a runway model, because she’s just fine.  

That little girl, laughing with big, doe eyes
And dewy lips coated in sugar
******* on lollipops and eating too many cookies with her friends, didn’t deserve this.  If only she knew that her happiness would be very short-lasting.  If she knew, she would’ve savoured those moments very dearly; but instead, she went on giggling in the sunshine, unaware that she will be lying in a hospital bed with a tube in her nose a few years later.

I would hug her, and hold her little 4’8 frame, and tell her that she needs to grow strong.  If you never eat, you never grow.  She needs to make sure her bones are iron-strong and her mind is sharp and fierce, and if she wants to chase her dreams, she can, and she can chase her dreams and achieve many things without needing to starve herself.  

Instead, she believed that skipping meals meant that she could conquer anything.  The only thing she would conquer is a trip to the ER and a near-death experience from malnutrition.  

Little girl with bright and peachy eyes,
Now that you don’t have to perfect, you can be good.
Sky 4d
Go out and buy yourself some diet pills
Take them for the purpose of a thrill
Exercise like it’s your religion
***** the good and bad decisions
Starving isn’t fun, but someone ought to do it
You were destined to be skinny and you knew it

Watch some fashion shows
Watch them thrice
Take all of their advice

Fat free, carb free,
Sugar and ice
Bread isn’t nice
***** rice
ALWAYS put up a fight

You want bread, it’s all in your head
You want to be fed, but you wish you were dead
You were born with a knife in your heart
As a child you were struck by a hundred darts, of the cruel words of society and of the jittery snicks of the sugar plum fairy girls, with their angelic faces and porcelain skin, black sockets for eyes and with the devil, akin.
Angels don’t exist here, only devils within.

Scrub your raw, bleeding gums
Until pretty girl juice dribbles from the razor sharp corners of your mouth
Trickling past your rotting teeth
Your skin, sallow and an expired yellow.
Purple spider veins strung out across your arms and legs, connecting the dots from the gaping stab wounds made by your mother’s sharp, bone-handled knife, which you snuck from the kitchen drawer.  Truly an antique. But now, antique and rusted with your blood.

Your mouth is filled with dirt and bugs
No more innocence, no more kisses and hugs
You aren’t your mother’s little girl anymore
You’re now the devil’s successful corpse

Dirt filled girls.  Dead rotting girls.
Expired girls.  Decomposing girls.
Hush, no one can hear you because
Dead, rotten girls can’t speak anymore
When they try to open their empty mouths, all that comes out are hollow screams and shrieks that pierce the void of the suffocating air in their coffin
Worms and roaches seep inside their bloated skin, making them itchy, itchy, itchy.
Dead, rotten girls can’t complain.
The devil’s thirst is quenched, and now he ate.
You begged for this fate.
Sky 4d
Diet cokes, menthol smokes
Flavoured water, sugar free gum
A bottle of liquor, and a bottle of Tums
Apple slices, plain lettuce leaves
Bitter black coffee, bitter green tea

Sugar free, dairy free, and fats aren’t very nice (BOTH fat and fats aren’t nice)
Carbs are the devil, so don’t be a rebel, and DON’T complain or put up a fight

Gluten free, soy free, and no I’m not allergic, these things are just extra ingredients that will pollute my insides and I NEED to be the closest living, breathing thing to emptiness as possible.

Whoever said to “accept yourself for who you are” has clearly never seen a model
The thinner is the winner, but in order to be thinner, you’ve gotta be a sinner,
Go against the rules of what everyone wants, because everyone wants you to stay fat and **** so that way they can be better than you.  

Whoever said to “love yourself” probably wants a skinny body, but they can’t refrain from the ice cream tub
Whoever said “all bodies are beautiful” just wants an excuse to eat more chocolate cake
Whoever said “Anorexia is a disease” clearly has never experienced the pure ecstasy that comes from fasting or feeling dizzy and thin at the same ******* time
Whoever said ”skinny doesn’t matter” clearly wasn’t skinny themselves, were they?

Whoever said “eating disorders ****”
Well... is right.
Sky Nov 27
They say little sisters tend to follow in their older sister’s footsteps- at first.  

my little sister wanted to basically be me when she grew up.  

I wish I was a good big sister who taught her good things, like all the joy that life can bring.  And how to fly the highest on a swing.

Instead, she watched me binge, puke, starve, and cut.  
She watched me exercise when I had the flu.
She watched me deny food even when I passed out earlier.
She watched me scrape my dinner plate into the trash.
She watched me shove pieces of bread in my pocket.
She watched me scrub the toilet, sometimes the shower, clean of *****.
She watched me twist and contort in pain as I emptied my insides of all the laxatives I took.
She watched me suffocate my waist with measuring tapes and wrap gauze around the cuts I made on my stomach.  

“Go away”
“This is just what big girls do sometimes”
“I’m just getting rid of evil stuff inside me”
Are all the things I’d tell her.

Then I caught her puking.
I caught her skipping meals.
I caught her biting her cheek as she scraped the contents of her favourite dinner- lasagna- into the trash can.
I saw her shove corn in the pockets of her sparkly pink jacket.
I caught her wolfing down my pink laxative tablets.
I caught her struggling to open the cap of my diet pills.
I caught her fumbling with the measuring tape.
I caught her crying because she couldn’t wrap her whole hand around her upper thigh like me.

I caught her skipping jump rope at 2am.
I asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she said “a scale.”

I cried and shouted “why?”

“Go away” she’d scream
“This is just what big girls do, right? I’m a big girl now.” She’d pout.  
I saw her in the shower, clumps of hair stuck to the wall, and deep gashes all over her stomach and her rib cage.  

Mom and dad didn’t care.  They never did.   I was the only one there to really take care of her.  

“I just wanna be a pretty girl” she sobbed.  

“But you are a pretty girl!” I’d cry

“No I’m not.  You always call yourself ****, even when everyone else says your not.  So why shouldn’t I?” She asked.

My sister died in the bathtub.  Wrists slit, favourite nightgown on.  She was only twelve.  

I remember when I slit my wrists in the bathtub.  I didn’t die, but she was 8, and she found me.  There’s only one thing she did that I didn’t do- she succeeded.

All because I taught her, that it’s normal for big girls to do these things.

Her note said: “I was just trying to get rid of the evil inside me”

She should’ve seen me as a role model.   Instead, she just saw me as a model.
For sisters who lost their innocence by following in their older sisters footsteps
Sky Nov 27
I’ll take a black coffee with no sugar.  
It’s disgusting, yes, and quite bitter.
I force myself to consume the bland beverage
Because I just want to feel like a pretty girl.

Milk and sugar will make me fat.  
I know, because when I was a younger girl
I used to drown my coffee in milk,
Until my coffee was the colour of pasty-white
And then I poured in one too many sugars.
The thick and heavy kind, not lite™️.  

I failed to see my waistline expand
As I consumed more calories in my homemade cup
Than in a sugary Starbucks drink
And I would have multiple cups- not just one

I want a black coffee with no sugar,
Because I read somewhere that vogue models drink black coffee to suppress their appetite.
I can taste the ecstasy of a Chanel model in a single cup of bitter ******* black coffee.  
I want to be a pretty girl.  I’m not a pretty girl.
But I will be.  

I want a black coffee with no sugar,
Because I don’t deserve to enjoy my food.
Models probably don’t enjoy their low calorie, tasteless food, but they sure force themselves to, because they actually have control, unlike me.

I’ll take a black coffee with no sugar.
I’ll also take a side of “pretty girl” with willpower.
I ******* hate black coffee.  
But I can’t complain.  Not at this rate, not at this hour.
I want to be a pretty girl.  Pretty as a flower.
Sky Aug 22
Every day feels like Winter. Sad and dreary, and cold.
You’re young and numb, but you feel so tired and old.
Summer isn’t Summer. Spring isn’t spring.
Seasons don’t matter, now they're just a dreaded thing.
The virus has devoured your mind, you aren’t even alive.
You used to walk hundreds of steps, but now, barely even 5.
Your heart is slower than your thinking.
Your sunken eyes are tired of blinking.
You want to give up, but the disease says no.
You wish that this deadly thing would just go.
All you are is skin and bone,
and you beg your voices to leave you alone,
but they won’t.

Your hair is dead and just dry straw, but you didn’t need it anyway.
Your fingernails are breaking off, but you didn’t need them anyway.
Your teeth are rotting one by one, but you don’t smile much anyway.
Your bones are next, since they are brittle and breaking,
What will it take to stop this internal aching?
As the virus eats your flesh, in your week old sweater,
you remember what it was like to be… better.

The sad thing is, you’ll continue to decay and let the voices rave,
even if it means that you will soon be placed in a concrete grave.
because at least you’ll feel pretty and alone,
proud of what’s left of your skin and bone.
Except you won’t be alive to be aware of yourself.
how sickening and skeletal you have made yourself.
you looked no different when you were alive,
except you were just living, but still dead inside.
You wear death perfectly, since this is who you are
and what you wanted.

At least no one can look at you.
At least no one can make you eat.
At least you can’t be tempted by a delicious treat.
At least no one can bother you, and let you rest in peace.
No mirrors to look in for hours and cry.
No more complaining that you wish you would just die.
No more worries, or sadness, or pain.
Your mind is gone and you're no longer insane.
You can sleep forever under the stars, and i suppose,
you can finally turn into nature, while you decompose.
And the best of all, is that you're no longer in your own skin.
No longer in your pitiful body, so technically, you win.
You’re a fresh soul who can no longer grieve,
and everything has left, and what’s left will leave.
Until you’re empty. Like you've always been.

But that hasn't happened yet.
Your mind is fading, and you always forget,
That you're still real, but you hate feeling real,
because you can still hurt, you can still feel.
You wish you could unzip your skin and set it on fire,
and watch it perish, in it’s disgusting attire.
At least you can disintegrate in that bed of yours.
Give in to all of your vicious wars.
But when it leaves temporarily, you still beg for more.
That’s how you know that you're sick to your very core.
You’ve been suffering this all alone,
You never leave the house, yet you feel like you aren't home.
And when this weather gets worse and hits you like a stone,
And the rain has fallen and the wind has already blown,
And this Winter climbs up your spine, and chills you to the bone,
You were once human. You would’ve never known.
This last day feels like Winter. Sad and dreary, and cold.

I hope that the broken disordered recover one day.  There is beauty through the broken, but you shouldn’t need to be broken to be beautiful.
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