my beautiful body is killing me,
it longs to seek no rest.
even without weighing myself
every hour is a moral test.
do i even want to be here?
could i be here and just be me?
but every minute is an endless sea
reminding me that i'm never free.
most days i feel like i was never meant to be
because my beautiful body is killing me.

my beautiful body is killing me,
it keeps me as cold as ice.
i no longer feel my fingers from the moment i arise.
and even when i want to eat,
looking at a plate of food usually suffices'.
and i don't want to be this way anymore,
i don't want to be alone.
i don't want to wonder for the rest of my life wondering what its like to have a home...
but no one holds me close enough anyways,
so alone is usually the best way to go.
when i fade away from everything i have ever known,
my beautiful body reassures me its okay -
that its probably better off to die this way.
that i was a failure when i was around them every day.
that i couldn't ever keep up with any game life ever tried to bestow to my name.
and its just better this way.
its just better this way.

my beautiful body calls so much attention,
but never any real recognition.
no true understanding of how strong a mission
it afflicted me with for total abolition.
to leave my mother with all of my favorite sweaters,
in an empty room with empty boxes,
packing away her daughters necklaces and lockets
and praying that it never ended up this way.

that her daughter could just come back one day.
that she had never become a spiritual stray.
that i had never become an apparition with no face, or no name.

my beautiful body is not beautiful,
it ravages me whole. every day that could of been happy
that anorexia stole. i can't help but face the reality that
i'm no longer on parole
i'm back in it again. and i don't want to be.
so don't call me beautiful please.
you just have no idea so you really can't see
how much of a waste of life i grew up to be.

they say,
you can’t have this body
and this sickness.

but they don’t hear
the screaming silence,
don’t see
the empty plates,
don’t feel
the shame that
swallows you whole.

to them,
you are just
too much.
to you,
you are never
enough.

if i carved my pain
into my skin,
if i starved myself
into nothing,
if i made a graveyard
of my body,
would you believe me then?

tell me,
how much of me
must i destroy
before you see
i'm already gone?

they say,
you can’t have this body
and this sickness.

but they don’t hear
the screaming silence,
don’t see
the empty plates,
don’t feel
the shame that
swallows you whole.

to them,
you are just
too much.
to you,
you are never
enough.