I'm starting to think God loves me better when I'm in stitches and scars,
It's 3pm on a Saturday afternoon and I've ditched a warm house warm soup and am now in a cathedral whispering " Hi, I'm Allie........ and I erm...I've got an eating disorders"
I'm 50% silk and 50% shards of glass but Somehow I've carried myself past the stairs & now I'm here feeling like the walls are mocking me...
I've spent the past 7 Augusts draped in bulimia and anorexia like a coffin and I'm ready to change clothes because I'm tired of wearing black and I'm tired of how it feels like I've been dressed for my funeral all since I've turned 13 except I'm already there watching myself get lowered into the ground but I never get there.
I never get there