The angels gathered
at dusk
when the sky was clear
and the wind was silent.
One was stick thin
with ribs protruding,
piercing the feeble
crumbling skin
and the angel was
starving, with
stomach growling
but the angel
wouldn't eat.
The second angel
had a fake smile
plastered,
so fake that its
mouth (decaying
with acid)
looked grotesque
and the angel
looked tormented
because it had
spent the past hour
on its knees
in a bathroom
emptying its
stomach
but it still thought
its smile was
convincing.
The third angel
had long
thin scars
bleeding red
all over its arms
but it smiled
its brightest smile,
chin up,
eyes bright
(but it secretly screamed
at itself late at night).

And many more
angels came,
all of them transparent,
with skin like
parchment
and eyes hollow,
eye sockets painfully
dug into their skulls,
with blue-purple
half-moons under
eyes losing their spark,
with crumbling,
burning smiles
that stung with
insincerity
and pure
venomous self-hatred,
and the angels dared not
face each other
and cut their own wings
feather by feather
and refused to believe
that they had not fallen.
But they hadn't, truly.
They had simply jumped.

Bulimia is a scary thing.
That is a fact.
She'll cradle and choke you.
But she'll get rid of the fat.

Bulimia is a scary thing.
But this is for sure-
The burning in your throat and mouth
Will not be the only sore.

Bulimia is a scary thing.
Late at night when you're alone
She'll be with you
Kneeling at the porcelain thrown.

Bulimia is a scary thing.
Because very soon
She'll have you dreaming
Of being a thinspo.

I lay in my bead cold and alone
Waiting for the endless pain
To go away.

I lay in my bed cold and alone
For someone to save me
From dying at home.

I lay in my bed cold and alone
I write and I write
but nothing comes out.

I lay in my bed cold and alone
Talking to myself
For there’s no one to talk.

I lay in my bed cold and alone
Waiting for my soul to fill what broke.

I lay in my bed cold and alone
For happiness I seek when I’m alone.

I lay in bed cold and alone
Please save me from drowning
In my own thoughts.

I lay in my bed cold and alone…

The toilet bowl is my mirror
I see the monster I've become 
Every time I lose my food
A countdown has begun

I keep breaking promises
I thought that I would win  
But the numbers on the scale
Are
       too
             high
                     to
                         keep
                                 me
                                       THIN

Red turns to white,
                             Slowly, but surely
The wounds close,
                             You regret
But not forget my friend,
                             How can you?
Soon you will move on,
                             But one thing will stay
Erase me with your mind,
                             Your little white lines

I'm not getting better
In fact,
I'm getting so much worse.
Everything is falling down
The tall pillars are crumbling down
All around my broken body
The doctors keep telling me
I'm cutting too deep
Eating too little
Purging too much.
But I can't stop.
Because you see,
The voices are getting louder
I can't ignore them
I can't block out my own thoughts,
Even though they're killing me.
I see things that aren't even there.
Can't you see I'm insane?
Or do you just choose to look away
And lie to yourself, saying,
"Oh, she's getting better."
Just so you can get a good nights sleep?
While I kiss the razor's sparkling blade.
You're watching me turn to ashes,
I know it won't be long,
Till I'm blown away.
My pulse is fading
My breathing is jagged
My mind is broken
But then again,
Once I'm gone,
You won't have to lose any more sleep.
So don't worry about me.
It won't be long
Until I leave you alone.

no one knows pain
like
the ones
who
curse their beloveds
and
bleed their heart
dry


like
the ones
who
watch blood bubble up
from wounds
self-made

the ones
who
fill themselves up
just
to empty it all
in a bathroom stall

the ones
who
refuse their meals
and
live for the scale
because
numbers
don't leave

the crying poet
the bleeding cutter
the vomiting bulimic
the starving anorexic
the lost
the empty
the lonely
the unloved

the ones
who
love too much
and
not enough

no one knows pain
like
humans know pain