it was dark,
the things she wrote,
the thoughts she had,
the lies that marked her porcelain skin.
her voice screamed, "help!"
and yet the demon inside
ripped her voice away
piece by piece until only
death remained inside her mind.

her eyes couldn't see the lies
for the fog that was made of pure deception
clouded her mind and filled her lungs
with the lies swirling inside her.
the smoke became too much
and the demons would only let her see
the vein on her wrist and the
box of blades that were just
waiting...
and
waiting...
they were waiting for her to  b    re       a          
                                                     ­                        k
to be p    u  s  h      e            d      to far
to make her feel everything
and then nothing at all.

As she wrote desperately,
trying to find her inner peace,
she died, sacrificing herself to those demons inside
she found eternal silence,
one that not even the angels could hear.
My dear, didn't you know that you were an angel?
Why did you believe the voices that said you couldn't fly?
Why did you believe the god forsaken lies?
Why?

Embarrassment.  
We all know what it is.
It's the son of Mr. Miscommunication
and the lovely Ms. Stupidity
Embarrassment isn't a kind thing
It crawls into your stomach and pokes at you
only to remind you
of your misfortune mis-step.
With all of Embarrasment's toying
you become uncomfortable
you sweat
you fidget
but it's still there
that, hopeless feeling of stupidity that
eats at you.  

Embarrasment's quite flexible,
he likes to move around
the more you think, the farther he goes
from your stomach's trouble to your chest
where he hurts your heart
and lodges your lungs

At this point,
we all know what happens
but

I'm far too embarrassed to explain it.

I’m the girl with the loudest laugh in the crowd, who warms the bodies of those who surround with happiness; the girl who puts on a smile and lights up the room, the girl who is there for everyone in their times of lonesome tears and times of trouble.

Within my laughs are cries of pain; among my lips is a dreadful control, constantly attempting to stop the quivering muscles; inside the bright room, the shadows wrap around me in their soothing embrace, drawing me into their abyss yet again; I’m the girl who wants to be comforted, calmed, and loved.

Notice me, and what I entail. Listen to my words, and try to understand their meaning. Look into my eyes and hear their quiet whispers as they spill out the secrets of sable struggles, a seemly sacrificed soul, and a sensibly sobered sanity.

This illness crawls through my brain, embedding the virus deeper into me, and stripping away all remembrances of my wholesome well-being. My body shivers and shutters despite the piles of blankets on top of me, or the two jackets upon my back. This physical cold is nothing compared to the grim cold running through my veins. I’m dawned with illness as my muscles shake and strain from the trifling weight of my own sorrow.

With each brush stroke, more hair comes out. The dark, twined mane falls on the floor of my bathroom tub, haunting me with judgment. My nails are peeled, the bags under my eyes darkened, the shine from my hair gone; all to feel normal. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, why am I doing this to myself?

___________
eating disorders, bulimia, depression, lost, lonely, depressed, struggles, pain, coping, mia, ana, life

How nice to be a balloon
floating on a young ones wrist
How I'd like to be a balloon.  

They float for some time, and then happily deflate
leaving there rubbery reminisce
For the young one to toy with
And stretch to it's limit
Or they might keep the balloon close
like some long lost friend

Unless, you're the sad balloon
who's string is dropped
and floats way up high
away from the happiness
away from the child
well
away from the tears of the young ones loss
who wishes only for the balloon
who's already lost.