I'm beginning to see my brittle bones make an appearance through my fragile skin.
I can see the curvature of my bones and where the connections begin.
I fear that the lack of my appetite will soon turn me dry of food and water.
And my mind and body will begin to weaken and  my perception will alter.
I numbingly watch the vultures circle around me under bright lights.
I want to cry as I listen to them say they loved me with all their might.
And they'll want to know how could I have possibly done such a thing.
Not realizing my lonely sessions consisted of my disorder to binge.
I can not chew without getting the sickening feeling of nausea.
I'd plainly just rather not eat until I pass out into euphoria.
Wake up sick once again, and the cycle repeats.
I lay weak in bed wondering when my disorder will put me into defeat.
I believe that is my goal, to torture myself in the ways that I can so I can go away.
Vulnerable in front of a mirror, wishing I can be put into the earth to lay.
I am weathering away, day by day, night by night, tracing the bones of my rib cage.
I can't eat, it will all come back up in a violent rage.
The growing pain residing in my stomach hurts.
But if it promises me death, I want to stay in this desert.