scarred skin
beckons so sweetly
razors gleam
and sing a siren's song

liquid fire
smells so sweet
bottles clink
and promise a forgetful haze

cabinets so full
cookies freshly baked
wrappers lure
and promise to fill the void

i close my eyes

grab my journal
leather so soft in my hands

and write

I Am Not Sad
I Am Not Alone
I Am Being Irrational

i cry for hours
because it feels like a lie

living in a recovering body
when my pain
aches for an escape
or a band-aid
however temporary

my tears could fill
the Atlantic

it’s hard
to hear you
brushing against
sleeves so thin

empty bites
ringing through
the silence
of wasting hips

i’m too scared
if i reach out
your frame will
dissipate

flee through skin
translucent
taking too much
...space

consuming chocolate happens to grant
a more therapeutic, enlightening
experience than any counselor
has given you. the sweets
melt into your tastebuds in a
vast array of decadent
flavors, but the remedy
for your heartache is shattered
just moments after the candy is

devoured. soon,
the bathroom is decorated
in earthy browns, chunks
of violet, lines of indigo,
sunset orange lumps, and
snippets of
incapacitated self-esteem
among spots of your own
red blood because

you need to feel
empty.

"You're too skinny",
says my love
just as the dawn
breaks through
the window shades.

The seconds
turn into sobs.
With every tear
another bone
protrudes.

All:
cheekbones,
hipbones
and ribs.
My rings
slip off my fingers,
jeans slide down,
the numbers
on the scale
decrease;
these moments,
a triumph.

There's no
stopping her,
no turning away.
She's taken over;
demanding:
SMALLER THAN SMALL.

I answer with:
obsession,
body checking;
an overpowering
need
to be weightless.

I close the door
on him
and the silly ideas
of getting well.
Turning to her,
we hold fragile hands;
I whisper,

"Together, till the end."

Stretch marks.
  Cellulite.
    Scales.

Want.
  Pretty  

Reflection,
  Is that really me?

Knife.
  Shredder.
    Fats be gone.
      For the better.

Please?