I blame it on my period, but it's my own lack of self control
I'm trying to get better, so it should start getting easier, shouldn't it?
But that's not how it works, no, not at all.
You still spend every single day consuming calories and wanting to explode.
You may not explode as often any more, but you still loosen your cannons daily.
You try to get buy with just one meal, but that turns into a full fledged feast.
You eat and you eat until you can't anymore, then goto the toilet and let some bombs explode.
But since you're getting better, you don't use up all of your ammo
You leave it hidden away, adding on some extra armor.
Then you wake up, see what all the violence caused you to gain
And you just feel like **** because you no longer come out on top every day.
You're losing battles left and right; and the saddest thing is, you're losing to your own mind.

Your words collect themselves.
Smoke of blank ink–
The blots form hands and feet.

Hello, Leviathan.

Dearest,
Drag me to ceramic land.

Sink your fangs on my knees.
Claw; curl my shoulders.
Scratch, raise my sleeves.
Force my hand to my face.

Leviathan, Leviathan,
you've failed.

You've prepared me for prayer.

Friend, don’t give in.
I’m drowning in knees,
they are up to my chest
and I can’t breathe.

But we can flush,
and maybe “purge”,
can mean rebirth.

The pipes froze as the toilet overflowed
with pangs of guilt and bile bitten clothes.
She tried to dispose of what she ate
from breakfast to lunch to her snacks after eight.
From dieting to shame, infatuation came,
from the overwhelming pain of being herself.
Scared to ask for help, she took matters to her hands.
One to hold her hair, the other to her thyroid gland.

© Matthew Harlovic

i was born in a ghost hospital
a pile of stones and then a blank slate
with new antiseptic rooms
invisible blood-stained linoleum
and the sound of rubber tennis shoe soles
replacing the place where
i was born with dying stars in my eyes
and supernovae bursting with the
last of their fiery energy before they
blink out of existence
like the hospital where i was born

am i now to be a woman
without true north
a single brick from the single place
where i respired freely and
crisp breaths of truth passed
like whispers over my wordless lips
before the oozing obsidian night
slowly crept up and
wrapped itself around me like
a flea infested blanket
and the blinding white light
of a growing chain reaction
a deafening ring in my ears
nothing

then slow realization that
i'm still alive
battered by beta particles
attacked by alphas
and i'm alone in the nuclear winter
to trek towards my kaaba
the only piece of
where i came into the world
and was the baby girl that
my parents cradled in their
awkward hesitant arms
the little angel my father thought
would certainly break
into a million pieces by the slightest breath of wind
and scatter to heaven
for where else should such innocence be?

i yearn for that brick
from my hospital
because its foundation was built
on something apart
from eating disorders
bipolar disorder
suicide attempts
neat lines of cuts in various stages of healing
when i hold that stone in my hand
residual sand from the
demolition site crumbling
as i turn the cement over
and over
its warmth and weight so real in my hand
that i can see a dim light in a window
a glowing blonde kissing
her black haired beau
and the baby in her arms
theirs
even just for that night.

I've always been obsessed with bones

When i was only 10 years old i saw a beautiful woman with extremely skinny, long and straight legs.
I wanted to be like her.

As long as i can remember i've always looked at peoples collarbones.
My friends says i'm obsessed with bones.

"How many coins can you stack on your collarbones?
I can stack 23 on each.
Wanna see a picture?"

If you want to look skinnier,
push back your *** and lean a bit forward.
That way you'll appear to have a thigh gap.

When i get anxious,
i rub the places on my body where i can feel bones.
It calms me to know i still have them

If you want to lose weight.
Starving is a great idea.
Drink water to fill you up, and burn at least 800 calories a day.

When i feel sad, i hit myself.
I don't like cutting, not anymore.
Bruising is much better.
The bonier you are the faster you bruise.

Everyone relates to a skeleton.

I'm not sick, i don't have an eating disorder and i'm not getting "too thin"

It's not like i lose a lot of weight.. Maybe 3-4 pounds a week.
But then i gain it back and lose a little more the next time.

My demons laugh, everytime i resist a piece of food.
They're proud of me, cause i'm still standing. Even after being empty for so long.

I'm not sick, i don't have an eating disorder, and i'm not getting "too thin"
I'm becoming a better me

I can't even bring myself to get off the bathroom floor,
Let alone continue as everything is normal.
Theres really no point to go anywhere else, im just going to end up back here again within the next twenty four hours.
Seems like i spend more time with my fingers down my throat, than anything i've ever tried to accomplish.
I don't know why im like this.
I use my fingers to rip out the secrets that im too afraid to tell,
But once they're out in the open i banish them as soon as i possibly can.
I don't want to be like this; i don't want this to control me.
Little by little i've let it creep into my life, and now its the only thing that occupies my mind.
'What are you going to eat, and how much of it'
'How will you get rid of this, you can't just leave it in your stomach'
Those are just a few of the things that i hear in my mind on the daily.
I said i was finished with this, but im not sure.
I  just don't know if I'm ready to abandon this and all my hard work.