When I concentrate
the ache goes away
and I am beautiful
with my ribs hiding
under this flesh
the extra body heat
that is so unnecessary
and I know the mirror
tells me lies and its
my brain that tells
me otherwise but the
act of resistance is
an addiction;
to deprive myself
is an obsession I
can't break I can't  
heal it's a disease its
a paradox, like me,
nonsensical, there is
no substance to it
only absence, no
release, there is no
relief.  The  voices in
my head are screaming
at me to not give up
to stay away to keep
my distance.  The more
I resist, the more
beautiful I become.
Does it tire me out?
Does it keep me alive?
I persuade myself to
believe that I will not
lose myself resisting
but then I am empty
and I feel the dark
engulf my soul that
fades away and my
mind begins to fight
with me, myself, and I
and then I realize that
I love the way I hate
myself not that I am
loving myself because
I have lost myself
I lost my way and
before I heal the fear
creeps in and hysteria
takes its toll and there
is pain everywhere and
I become completely
dark so that the light
can sneak back in and
light up my sky once again.
But I know the ache
always makes a reappearance..