You say, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
but I say surely something

must taste nicer than the burning acid
being forced back up your throat.

Why not hug people instead of
toilet bowls? At least they’ll hug back.

Except Mia is your only friend now.
And her cousin, Ana, of course.

And I understand that you never
wanted to die, but this is a thousand ton truck

hurtling towards the edge of a cliff and
Ana took the wheel a long time ago.

There is no strength in this: in you, in a
fear of calories. Even your bones creak

as your muscles sigh with exhaustion -
for this, is not a war you're winning.

This is a battle with only one contender
and I will not be the one to disarm you.

That's your job and it always has been. I know
you only wanted to be beautiful

like all those stars in the magazines
you saved under a file titled ‘thinspo’

but the only stars you ever saw were in
your eyes from the dizziness

and to tell you the truth, you are not pretty.
For there is nothing “pretty”

about the layer of fuzz your body grew
to protect itself from the big bad wolf

when really, the only growl was coming
from inside your stomach.

Or how your little sister is afraid to touch,
let alone hug you, in fear of snapping you in two.

For there is no glamour in having to
remove clumps of hair out of the plughole

at least six times whilst having a shower,
just to let the water run down.

Or that one time you "accidentally”
took too many laxatives. Messy.

There is nothing admirable about the way
you sat shivering on your bed

at night instead of kissing boys,
or dancing, or eating ice cream.

There is nothing to be marvelled at
in dying.

This, is not a life to be lived.
God, this isn't even a life.

This is being a slave to your own body,

a walking zombie, a ghost stuck
between two sides.

You are not alive.

But it was all still worth it, right?
Slowly killing yourself from the inside out.

A small price to pay for perfection,
a bargain for a broken mirror;

for a half-written book
with 97 blank pages,

a camera
that only captures in black and white,

a clock
with frozen hands.

And most importantly, for a peace of mind
you never received.

No refunds.

Sometimes,
Scars do heal,
Though they leave a mark,
It can be invisible,
But often, tis indelible,
Especially mental scarring,
And, Time, our constant companion,
Heals absolutely nothing,
They tell you it does,
Those who think they know,
Who think they feel your pain,
Who think they understand,
But in fact, grasp nothing,
Not one iota of the agony,
Not a single scrap of hurt,
Yes, they think Time does wonders,
But it doesn't, and they know it,
As you know it, as I know it,
It just lessens the pain,
Eases the burden,
It does offer hope, though,
This companion, offers a chance,
But one has to fight,
One has to struggle,
Rise up from the Dark,
Scream and rage at injustice,
Welcome Light onto one’s face,
Feel the warmth, love it,
Loving is the key,
And acceptance, just accept,
This life, this one life,
It may change, yes, maybe,
Change does happen,
Can really happen,
Sometimes.

© Paul Chafer 2014

"How can someone love you
If you don't love yourself?"
The words of therapists trying to help
Won't go away

They're right
I'd been thinking about it all wrong the whole time
There's
         Nothing
                     To love*
They didn't want me to be happy
They just wanted to put me out of my misery

It's ironic
How beautiful it is
The way it flows in a thin line
Drops of pain and sorrow
That puddle up on your bathroom floor
Drained
No longer a part of you
You start to think
*"Maybe if enough is lost
The pain will go away."

perscripted after
mother found me
bleeding from
my wrist
more than a
week ago going
"strong" she has
my blades but it's hard
to take the harshest weapon
when it's your head
and it's sharpened in the night

The motherly figure
Locked away in fumes
Smelling of skunk
The green smoke taking her away
To anywhere but here

The man of the house
Glass after glass
Of wine
*****
Beer
Even Listerine
If that is what it took
To get even a slight buzz

I sit alone
Adding another mark to the tally
Behind the mirror
Only a few more
Before it is accepted
For my life to end

The youngest
Unaware of all of the despair
In her family
The only one
Who truly smiles
In our family portrait

Do I break secrecy
Or keep confidentiality?

One means losing a friend
So does the other

He could be gone
By a simple phone call
Driven miles away
To who knows where

He could disappear
By the flick of a knife
Into a small casket
Underneath the ground