I ate away the rape.
I ate away the abuse.
I ate away the depression.
I tried eating away the pain.
But now I can't keep eating.
Because of the words that you threw around like it was nothing.
Fat. Disgusting. Ugly.
I'm not sad and beautiful.
Like the girls you write the stories about.
Because my self harm was my comfort food.
The way your self harm was the lack of food.
I punished my body everytime I climbed stairs.
And I knew I deserved it.
Except now at my lowest,
I can't afford a salad.
Or a donut to find the seratonin that I crave.
And the only thing I want to eat now
Is a bullet.