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wonderland
15//uk//suididal//music is my everything//self harm//self hate//eating disorder//
Poems
AJ Jul 2013
Stop Romanticizing
AJ
Jul 2013
I really don't think you understand.
I will explain it to you.
Being bulimic is convincing yourself,
That you don't like pizza, or chips, or ice cream.
And eventually you believe it whole heartedly.
And you cannot stand those foods anymore.
Being bulimic is pretending
To eat dinner in your room,
And just hiding it in a plastic bag,
Until you have time to get rid of it.
Being bulimic is more than just counting calories.
You count calories, and bites, and calculate percentage of calories from fat,
And how many calories you have left that day.
And you can't sleep if you haven't written every bite down.
Being bulimic is having an absolute panic attack
When dinner plans are changed.
You planned for this meal.
And now everything you worked so *******, is gone.
Being bulimic is waiting till 2 am,
When everyone is asleep,
So you can sneak out to the kitchen,
And take a bunch of food back to your room.
Being bulimic is binging on so much food,
Way beyond what makes your stomach feel comfortable,
And you don't even like the food your eating.
You don't even like it, and you just stuff it in your mouth.
Being bulimic is being able to ***** without a toothbrush,
And doing at least 600 crunches that night,
So that you don't need to cut yourself
For what you just did.
Romanticize it all you want,
But my teeth rotted,
And i still have friends that listen outside the bathroom door.
Have fun, because I'm not.
I will explain it to you.
Being bulimic is convincing yourself,
That you don't like pizza, or chips, or ice cream.
And eventually you believe it whole heartedly.
And you cannot stand those foods anymore.
Being bulimic is pretending
To eat dinner in your room,
And just hiding it in a plastic bag,
Until you have time to get rid of it.
Being bulimic is more than just counting calories.
You count calories, and bites, and calculate percentage of calories from fat,
And how many calories you have left that day.
And you can't sleep if you haven't written every bite down.
Being bulimic is having an absolute panic attack
When dinner plans are changed.
You planned for this meal.
And now everything you worked so *******, is gone.
Being bulimic is waiting till 2 am,
When everyone is asleep,
So you can sneak out to the kitchen,
And take a bunch of food back to your room.
Being bulimic is binging on so much food,
Way beyond what makes your stomach feel comfortable,
And you don't even like the food your eating.
You don't even like it, and you just stuff it in your mouth.
Being bulimic is being able to ***** without a toothbrush,
And doing at least 600 crunches that night,
So that you don't need to cut yourself
For what you just did.
Romanticize it all you want,
But my teeth rotted,
And i still have friends that listen outside the bathroom door.
Have fun, because I'm not.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
head like a rhino
Mateuš Conrad
Aug 2018
.do you really need a disclaimer, for this sort of work? no, not really... it's not exactly being allowed the equivalency of dropping an in excess of 2000mg of paracetamol.
the one aspect of legacy media, that still has some viability, akin to rekindling the famous extract from the movie: all the presidents men... is concerns for metal health issues of youngsters, who didn't have, the, "privilege" of being exposed to internet ergonomics, other than within the confines of gaming, they came far too late for, what replaced mp3 sharing.... ideas are not exactly sound-bites of copyright infringement...
**** me... do i really have to slap then punch
myself in the face, to remotely stay
awake while drinking ***** like pepsi
sharpshooters?
i guess so...
i too, "suffered" from roman bulimia,
the classical kind...
don't ask me how i managed to make
the esophagus contender of the heart,
muscle...
at first it was cheap choc down
the throat, missing on brushing my
teeth for 48 hours...
then... ******* down the throat,
like the ****-style gimmick of the Watergate
informant...
came back up, bundled in quasi turds
packages...
classical Roman bulimia -
eat, regurgitate, eat some more,
hell, now you have a Pompeii style
banquet of the coming of age...
laxatives?
that's no bulimia...
bulimia is an extension of an ancient
Roman practice, akin to throwing yourself
****-naked into a nettle shrub area...
to get the "itches"...
that method, involved in energizing
the neuron extension of the skin...
it's a "placebo" itch...
nettles, ancient Romans,
and bulimia like the rite of a loss of
virginity of kings...
festering at its core... of the French court...
with a *****'s teaching apparatus,
leveraging the use of, a single "tool"...
and even though the ancient Romans
never reached my people...
i get to abuse their phonetic encoding stratum...
bulimia... sure... i, "suffered" from it...
not really, no... i ******* enjoyed
the regurgitation process...
anti-Grecian pederasty gimmick...
(a) taking a ****
(b) oral regurgitation
imitating an ancient Roman banquet
(c) / (d) ensuring the two entry points
are filled by an external source -
wishing for vanilla custard *******...
none to be...
oops...
so no one taught these girls
about ancient Roman bulimic
practices?
you work on the esophagus...
by the time i finished
the transition period...
i automated the esophagus reaction...
like training gymnastics for a six-pack...
no longer ******* down the throat...
you say charge? i think of
a rhino juggernaut...
so no one bothered these girls
introducing ancient methodologies
to their predicament?
no training of the esophagus,
no two (index + middle) fingers down
their throat to ease their larynx from
a gagging order?
none of it?
they'll grow out of it!
i did...
drink a liter of ***** per day
and i'm feeling: shimmy!
upon each nocturnal investment
that i translate into writing...
anorexia?
give them excess coffee...
or strong cider...
the most pristine aperitif...
you can't cure anorexia with either
drips or syringes...
you need aperitifs...
but please don't give them
white vinegar...
you need a balance of alcohol
overcoming the sugars...
strong beer is alcohol overcoming
starches... won't work...
coffee and sugar helps...
both simulate the pristine form of
the marijuana *****...
it's not poison...
so why should i care?
oh but i do care... reading this article...
troubled teenagers dodge Instagtram
curbs on photos glorifying self-harm...
ever tried burning out a cigarette tip
on your knuckle?
ever wondered about
warming up a hand of scissors and
giving yourself an indie tattoo?
while at the same time...
relying on the mouse principle?
i.e. remaining pipsqueak clean from
making any noise?!
cutting is so crass...
so unimaginative...
you will not achieve the adrenaline *****
status of a stab-victim...
there is no element of surprise...
but...
if you really want to ingest pain?
hmm... hmm?
heat up a scissor arm...
and put it against your skin...
and then... EAT... the pain...
with what you can surmount in and with,
silence...
cutting is too... dramatic...
at least burning yourself you have
not achieved the stature of a shedding blood...
cleaner, more effective,
think of orange recycling bags
collected at the start of the week...
**** me though...
you seen the comradely behavior
of competing athletes, at the european
championships in Berlin,
with the pole vaulters?
Armand Duplantis -
congratulated for having crossed
the 6m benchmark of respectability...
now... that's sport!
football, soccer, basketball,
call it what you like...
that's not sport, that's business,
that's advertisement...
that's concussion cover-ups...
Epke Zonderland? also a doctor...
communist Poland believed in
sport, sport on the side,
sport was never to reach status
of a mono-career investment...
most of the local football
players from my hometown,
also worked less hours in
the metallurgy plant...
that's sport...
a healthy balance...
which, mainstream sport is lacking...
oh look...
the women doing the hammer throw,
or the discus...
not exactly Vogue / Chanel catwalk
material...
mandible beauties...
to be honest? the doping affair
in the Olympic sports?
but a minor setback of credibility...
i rather watch that...
than those pitiable 22 ballerinas in soccer.
the one aspect of legacy media, that still has some viability, akin to rekindling the famous extract from the movie: all the presidents men... is concerns for metal health issues of youngsters, who didn't have, the, "privilege" of being exposed to internet ergonomics, other than within the confines of gaming, they came far too late for, what replaced mp3 sharing.... ideas are not exactly sound-bites of copyright infringement...
**** me... do i really have to slap then punch
myself in the face, to remotely stay
awake while drinking ***** like pepsi
sharpshooters?
i guess so...
i too, "suffered" from roman bulimia,
the classical kind...
don't ask me how i managed to make
the esophagus contender of the heart,
muscle...
at first it was cheap choc down
the throat, missing on brushing my
teeth for 48 hours...
then... ******* down the throat,
like the ****-style gimmick of the Watergate
informant...
came back up, bundled in quasi turds
packages...
classical Roman bulimia -
eat, regurgitate, eat some more,
hell, now you have a Pompeii style
banquet of the coming of age...
laxatives?
that's no bulimia...
bulimia is an extension of an ancient
Roman practice, akin to throwing yourself
****-naked into a nettle shrub area...
to get the "itches"...
that method, involved in energizing
the neuron extension of the skin...
it's a "placebo" itch...
nettles, ancient Romans,
and bulimia like the rite of a loss of
virginity of kings...
festering at its core... of the French court...
with a *****'s teaching apparatus,
leveraging the use of, a single "tool"...
and even though the ancient Romans
never reached my people...
i get to abuse their phonetic encoding stratum...
bulimia... sure... i, "suffered" from it...
not really, no... i ******* enjoyed
the regurgitation process...
anti-Grecian pederasty gimmick...
(a) taking a ****
(b) oral regurgitation
imitating an ancient Roman banquet
(c) / (d) ensuring the two entry points
are filled by an external source -
wishing for vanilla custard *******...
none to be...
oops...
so no one taught these girls
about ancient Roman bulimic
practices?
you work on the esophagus...
by the time i finished
the transition period...
i automated the esophagus reaction...
like training gymnastics for a six-pack...
no longer ******* down the throat...
you say charge? i think of
a rhino juggernaut...
so no one bothered these girls
introducing ancient methodologies
to their predicament?
no training of the esophagus,
no two (index + middle) fingers down
their throat to ease their larynx from
a gagging order?
none of it?
they'll grow out of it!
i did...
drink a liter of ***** per day
and i'm feeling: shimmy!
upon each nocturnal investment
that i translate into writing...
anorexia?
give them excess coffee...
or strong cider...
the most pristine aperitif...
you can't cure anorexia with either
drips or syringes...
you need aperitifs...
but please don't give them
white vinegar...
you need a balance of alcohol
overcoming the sugars...
strong beer is alcohol overcoming
starches... won't work...
coffee and sugar helps...
both simulate the pristine form of
the marijuana *****...
it's not poison...
so why should i care?
oh but i do care... reading this article...
troubled teenagers dodge Instagtram
curbs on photos glorifying self-harm...
ever tried burning out a cigarette tip
on your knuckle?
ever wondered about
warming up a hand of scissors and
giving yourself an indie tattoo?
while at the same time...
relying on the mouse principle?
i.e. remaining pipsqueak clean from
making any noise?!
cutting is so crass...
so unimaginative...
you will not achieve the adrenaline *****
status of a stab-victim...
there is no element of surprise...
but...
if you really want to ingest pain?
hmm... hmm?
heat up a scissor arm...
and put it against your skin...
and then... EAT... the pain...
with what you can surmount in and with,
silence...
cutting is too... dramatic...
at least burning yourself you have
not achieved the stature of a shedding blood...
cleaner, more effective,
think of orange recycling bags
collected at the start of the week...
**** me though...
you seen the comradely behavior
of competing athletes, at the european
championships in Berlin,
with the pole vaulters?
Armand Duplantis -
congratulated for having crossed
the 6m benchmark of respectability...
now... that's sport!
football, soccer, basketball,
call it what you like...
that's not sport, that's business,
that's advertisement...
that's concussion cover-ups...
Epke Zonderland? also a doctor...
communist Poland believed in
sport, sport on the side,
sport was never to reach status
of a mono-career investment...
most of the local football
players from my hometown,
also worked less hours in
the metallurgy plant...
that's sport...
a healthy balance...
which, mainstream sport is lacking...
oh look...
the women doing the hammer throw,
or the discus...
not exactly Vogue / Chanel catwalk
material...
mandible beauties...
to be honest? the doping affair
in the Olympic sports?
but a minor setback of credibility...
i rather watch that...
than those pitiable 22 ballerinas in soccer.