I'm not an obvious kind of pretty
I don't have natural blonde hair
Or bright blue eyes
No perky little *****
No gap between my thighs
I don't look like anyone else
I bleach my own hair
Use drug store eyeshadow
And **** shopping in Topshop

I have lumps and bumps
Cellulite and pudge
Blackheads and bacne
And prodigious pours
A recipe for nothing special at all!
Just someone average
Who has a bright twinkle
In her fog grey eyes
And curvy hips and ****
That sway in the sun

You have to look close
To see all my beauty
I'm not a runway model
Or a ******* bunny
Just someone on the sidelines
Watching the runway models and bunnies
While they get the attention
And I get brushed by
It's not obvious that I'm beautiful
Until you look into my eyes
Until you see my semi-white smile
Then you notice the little moles
The red and silver scars
The way my body curves
In a voluptuous ans peachy way
And then you see
Just how ******* perfect I am

The little boy in gray doesn't smile often,
and his breathing is so shallow,
they may ask again,
"are you sure that he is breathing? Are you sure that he's alive?"
and rest assured his body's trying
to keep him alive
despite how much he breaks it down
and watches nonchalantly as it drowns.

He longs for poison to taint his blood
and strengthen the walls that creep up around him
(those ugly weeds that stole the color of the ground
and choked out the bound
to be life that would have sprung up at his feet).

He constricts himself like a snake,
and lets himself bleed,
as if all this hurt was not by his hands (callused and uneven and scraped down to bone),
he still cries
as the water rushes down his back
and stings his dull eyes.
He still cries when the hunger grips him and won't let go
even though
he did all this.

The little boy in gray ignores all of this
and continues in his silence
to the outside world,
for he is one among many,
and those others are so worthy.

Every queen must have a throne,
but mine is cheap and flimsy.
A plastic chair made in China,
worth less than a dollar,
swaying under my weight.
To stay from falling,
whenever I sit,
I keep myself light and fit.
I stay perched in reticence,
balancing the paper crown
upon my jaded head.
As tendrils of brown hair,
fall to the floor in plain.
Hands and feet crossed,
bound in leather and chains.

I want to feel.
I want to cry again at night
so I can't lose sight
of what matters.

I want to feel.
I want to be happy even when I'm not empty
so that I can be so happy I'm as nice as can be.

I want to feel.
I want to be so angry that I can cut myself
without needing to make up a reason
for just wanting to see myself become a ****** mess.

I want to feel.
I want to feel so much terror
at seeing myself again
that I keep fighting until Monday,
and the next,
and the next,
until I can't keep living.

Maybe I'm shooting in the dark.
Maybe I'm shooting at something that's not really there.
It doesn't feel fair
that I have to be
such a lousy shot.

I'm not a robot.
I'm not calculating.
I'm not cold and defining.

I might be running through rivers of black ink.
I might be breathing in the noise.
I might be doing anything at all, but I don't think
I could fail to notice.

I'm not just ignorant,
I know what's happening,
but I can't admit anything at all.
I'd rather fall

into the staining, screaming streams
that claw at my callused feet.
I'm running
with no street
to follow.

The shining ink's close
to me, but it's not
how I want to go.

I really am flailing at nothing,
but I realize
I was never breathing words,
I was breathing in these thick and heavy woods.

I can't keep running.
I've destroyed that part of myself.
I keep the perfect things on a shelf
where I can't reach them.

Please, tell me again
how I am not breathing in
your words like oxegyn.

My lifeline, my lifeline.
I can't find it.
I'm drowning, I'm drowning.

Pulling muscle and
refusing to keep it down
preparing to drown.

It's been a back and forth motion:

losing
  gaining
losing
  gaining
losing
  gaining
  maintaining
losing

for nearly a decade.

I can't seem to find* my way back up from this downward spiral
and I'm losing more than mass as I descend.

I don't have anyone close enough to stop me. Not that I'd let them anyways.

I'm going to keep
losing and
losing and
losing.

I'll turn sideways and disappear.
Shrivel up into .nothing.

And maybe then,
   just then,
I might feel valid.

(*correction: I can but I refuse to.)

I used to wake up every morning with the bitter taste of yesterday’s guilt still lingering in my mouth.
I used to touch my body as I looked at my lifeless reflection in that deceptive pane of glass.
I used to wish and hope and pray as I pressed my feet onto that cold glass scale that I would be another pound closer to death.
I never ate.
I did everything I could to keep myself from doing so.
Hungry?
20 sit-ups.
Stomach growling?
Get out of the house.
Faint?
Take a nap.
ATE SOMETHING!?
You fat **** go run until you *****.
Why did I do this?
I don’t know.
Was it because I hated myself?
Maybe.
Was it for attention?
Maybe.
Was it just another way for me to self destruct?
Maybe.
You tell me.
But I’ll tell you one thing.
Starving yourself is not ******* worth any of it.

Mirror mirror on the wall
Tunnel vision on the flaws
In the scale of things it’s unimportant
So no talking but it’s still an intrusive thought

Tried hard to correct it
But nothing was effective
No-one else seemed so obsessed with it, things were desperate
Until the voice crept in

I can help you, trust me, you’re ready

It seemed dangerous
But it said to have faith in it

The secret is to just be empty

Didn’t know if it was wise to listen
But what could it hurt to try?

P1:
And at first it was working
But then things were emerging
Cracked lips and Tired eyes
I’m hungry with no appetite

I’m shivering and shaking, and I tell myself it’s fine, but
You can’t fool your body, you can only fool your mind, yuh

Empty
I just need to be empty
Hide from anybody who’ll prevent me
Just fill up on water and shame
No, I’m not hungry, I just ate

I’ve developed a taste for this
Endure the neverending ache
Convince myself I’m in control and it’s not
All that voice that makes me sick

C:
Inside it’s empty
Ana- I know it’s wrong
I’m looking but I can’t see myself

Inside it’s empty
Ana- I know it’s wrong
But it’s so hard to stop it alone

V2:
Been getting even worse
All the days begin to merge
Just a blurry haze and now it’s
Almost second nature to ignore the urges

Can’t trust my own nature
Every calorie a failure
Gotta push the intake down every day
‘Cause the voice comes back to say

You want to eat?   Bite your tongue

Don’t want to stay an embarrassment
just have to stomach it

They don't know what you want
A tug of war against common sense
don’t wanna believe that I’ve overstepped

P2:
But it’s so overwhelming
And I hope no-one can tell
‘Cause the numbers keep decreasing
This ordeal is becoming routine, check

Arms back neck thighs **** it in and Pinch my sides
The scales are betraying me, the mirror is a lie, yeah

Numbers
It all comes down to numbers
I know it’s wrong but
Just because you know you’re colorblind
doesn’t mean you can see the colors

Fine, I admit I’m addicted
But the hunger feels good, how do I quit this
I know I could die, I’ve seen the statistics
But the voice is with me through thick and thin

Bridge:
I can reach out
To someone not like me
If you ask for help it doesn’t make you weak

I can reach out
ignore what the voice tells me
I can help my mind learn to trust my body
*Credit to JaidenAnimations & Boyinaband