i hang my head over the cool white surface
gazing at last hours lunch.
my stomach hurts.

i hang my head over the cool white surface, washing away my pain
and remmenants i couldn’t flush away.
my teeth ache.  

i stare at my reflection:
short cropped hair,
almost beautifully defined cheekbones,
red eyes that feel hallowed.
my throat aches.

i turn to the cool white surface,
a colourful mosaic of food i can name
on all of my fingers
and notes from my daily logs.
i ache for the number on the scale
to drop once more.