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brokenpoetryy Jun 2017
Emptiness.
Almost nothing.
Barely skin and bones.
Slowly wasting away.
Translucent skin, sallow cheeks.
You're almost pretty, but not quite.
Not enough to look in the mirror.
Thighs too large, cheeks too plump, Stomach too wide.
120 was too obese for you to stand.
You began to skip one meal. Then two meals.  Then three.
Tearing your skin off of your mangled body.
Every single calorie watched and weighed.
Gone are all the things that made you, you.
Lost was your entire essence
To a blood-thirsty monster.
Not completely happy,
Not quite good enough.
Finally crushed
To nothing.

— The End —