Fresh baked bread
Layered in death and vegetation
My insides burn with withdrawal
It's been almost 24 hours now
How much longer will it take?
To either cave in unwillingly
Or to die painfully slow?

If I had not forgotten my cash
I'd have given in to my survival drives
I'm happy I forgot it
Because I can't stomach the idea of food
Let alone choke down something so revolting
Only because it pulls me further away from death

Instead I flood my veins with nicotine
Desperately trying to curb these cravings
My legs threaten to give out
With each step I take
Even now, scratching this among global fem notes
Dissociated entirely from class
My hands won't stop shaking

Is it nerves?
Or physical deterioration?
Or the panic lying under the surface?
Deafening screams ricochet through my mind
As I try to drown these feelings
But they won't disappear

I've dropped significant weight
And I don't want it back
I don't feel the need to lose more
But still it falls away
And eventually leaves nothing but skin and bones
Fueled by electrifying anxiety

The burning feeling in my stomach calms me.

I don't even mind.

You have been my friend for years.

Feeling myself starving makes me feel alive.

The crawling under my skin. Too familliar.

I'm in control of my destiny, or am I?

My body is disappering and I don't care.

Do I live or die? It's up to me.

My old friend. I haven't seen you in awhile.

All the years we've spent together, makes me feel close to you once again.

Do we go down together this time?

I don't care as long as you're with me.

You're the only one who never leaves.

With you by my side I'd do anything.

Even destroying myself in the process.

Have you eaten?
Yeah
Have you?
I can tell when she asks me it grows from love
But I can't help but think otherwise as I curl her hair at midnight
Hugging me one last time before she goes off to meet the man who is made of shadows
I cannot save her
I cannot even save myself

I do sit ups as they lay asleep
I am bone and they are flesh
It's how it's always been
Hiding behind my skeleton while my friends pretend that nothing is wrong
Nothing is wrong
Nothing is wrong

How often do you cry at the dinner table?
Weeping over ever teaspoon of honey that falls down your throat
When will I realize that I cannot craft a new heart out of ash and longing?

I send myself mixed signals
Is the day a success if I eat something,
Or nothing at all?
What about one apple, two apples?
Three?
Am I any less alluring if you cannot see my collarbones stabbing through my neck?
A silent fist fight taking place upon my frail décolletage
Am I less interesting if you cannot see the world through the gap between my thighs?
If there is not even a sliver of space between them?
He can complain I do not eat
She can mother my heart into hunger
It seems to change nothing
Because they are not awake when I am awake
And they do not feel what I feel
An itching sensation in my stomach that causes my euphoria
A starving cry that echoes within my spine like church bells

There are wolves only I can hear
Howling symphonies of hunger and longing  
They sing me lullabies as I lay awake
Horrified at the thought of having to explain to my childhood self that she would one day be afraid of her own reflection

She stares at the blank page
Then at the far wall
“We’re all mad here,” it says
Whispering
Yelling
Beckoning
I feel so small
A tiny version of myself
Balled up inside
Peering through this strangers’ eyes
Sounds echo loudly
Reverberating through my hosts’ body
I may be losing my mind
Everything is surrounding me
Pulsating
Colossal versions of themselves
I’m in the kitchen now
How did I get here?
How long has it been?
I place my hand in front of my face
It doesn’t feel like my hand
I pick up a knife and slice open the palm of my dead hand
I don’t flinch
I don’t feel it
“Where am I,” I ask as the blood drips from my hand

They told me monsters lived under the bed
They told me that monsters are tangible
Now the only monsters I know live in my head
And they always leave me susceptible

To doubt
And fear.

If I tell you the monsters look like me
I know that you will think I'm going insane
Maybe if I keep telling myself I'm ok I'll believe
That normality is something I can maintain

But what is normal?

They told me monsters lived under the bed
They told me that monsters are tangible
The only monsters I know live in my head
Please, I beg you, don't be skeptical.