I have starved past the point of hunger,
and continued til hunger came back only to leave again.
I have tried to slit my wrists until my sanguine blood wine poured like tears, like fountain, like waterfall.
All I have ever wanted is to make myself smaller, to shrink away from these haunted memories, from my tainted past.
Sometimes wishes come true.

I am dying.
I don't say that lightly,
this isn't a hearty joke to laugh at later.
I am dying and doing nothing to stop my personal decay.
They all pretend to worry,
ask if I'm losing weight,
Ask why I am so tired all the time but I never respond with any truth.
I've lost near twenty pounds in less than a month while still eating with consistency,
Yesterday I threw up nothing and saw blood.
My skin is so weak it is no longer a barrier between inside and out,
More like a ribbon at the end of a race,
one last thing to run through before the finish.

I am afraid that there is so much I will never get to reconcile with,
like the fact that I threw away someone I loved for the high,
The fact I may never really get to say goodbye.
I don't know what is the sickness to fear,
The one who won't let me breathe,
or the one who keeps love from me.