An abstract painting
Up to interpret.
Is it just me,
Or the mirror has a disfigurement?
Did the flower abruptly bloom,
Or was it something swollen in me,
That grew while I was sleeping?
Stunningly consuming the insides within.
Or does it pain
Because I'm empty?

Lovely and as useless
As a seven year old's drawing.
As haunting of a sight
Like a storm cloud nearby,
The drug of a cinephile.
Even my chest hurts when someone hugs
So even my ribs are in agony.
Or does it pain
Because I'm empty?

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.

Please forgive me
I don't know what's happening
It's too loud in my head,
I can't see beyond this feeling
Please forgive me,
I'm trying to find aid
Sometimes it works well,
It's worth what I've paid
But sometimes it just fails
Nothing I try works
I'm yelling like a monster
I've never felt this berserk
Please forgive me
I realize what I've done,
Only after the fog passes
After the fears have won.
Please forgive me,
I hope there is medication
Meditation's an option, I hear,
God, I need a vacation
From all of this noise,
My head feels so tight
I can't hear my voice,
Or my thoughts, or what feels right!
Please forgive me,
This is beyond my control
I didn't ask for any of this,
I just want to feel whole
Please forgive me
I wish you could relate
I wouldn't wish this upon you
I dare to wish for a better fate
Please forgive me,
This isn't an excuse
I will gladly run away,
I will gladly be a recluse.
Please forgive me,
I'd change my brain if I could
Why was I made this way?
Why can't I work like I should?

Running towards your own death,
voluntarily.

It’s waking up with an immediate anxiety attack
over having to eat to survive.

Every bite denied is a victory over desire
and a demonstration of
self-control
in the most
out-of-control way.

I used to hear voices, of this I'm not proud
Often while thinking, I'm "thinking" out loud
I mutter sometimes and don't really know why...
Some think when I mutter, I talk to myself.
But I no longer talk to "myself"
Just "me" and "I."

when i wake
i battle with thoughts that
cloud my eyes
dewy from tears
i am utterly and totally
drenched in sadness

when i rise
i do what i can to
make a cup of coffee
let the dogs out
brush my teeth
and go to work

(clockwork)

life cycles through waves
of feeling this way and that
never quite being able to grasp
on to a specific emotion
to describe how i am feeling
like how i can wake this way
and lay my head down to sleep
feeling something close to hopeful
ready to rise again
and the thoughts no longer exist in the morning

i find myself very odd
but people don't get to hear
this side of me
mostly because they don't ask
but i don't mind

(clockwork)

i have seen terrible days
i have seen days filled with miracles
i have seen days that are bleaker than bland
but i would prefer to have the days of
feeling something than nothing at all
so i push forward
take my medication
go to my therapist
and go to church

sometimes i wonder if God knows
the inner workings of my thoughts
as well as the Devil
a baptism could never submerge
my thoughts
yet i sing on praising Him

what i do know
is whether i am up
or i am down
i am here

(clockwork)