I’ve been starving since I was fourteen.
Please just let me scream.
Rusting like a machine,
Oil is hard to swallow.

I’m tired of passing out on the floor.
An underdose, lying by the door.
An absence in my core,
A gag when I try to fix it.

Putting on shirts, worried about how wide they make me seem.
Too self-conscious to wear something tight around the seams.
Pretending my future is only a dream,
I’m becoming dusty on the internal.

Withering away, I feel my soul leaving.
Blowing with the wind, I am still grieving.
I’m more used to the sound of heaving,
Than the sound of myself eating.