no one tells her that those candy-colored pills are not chocolate
that no matter how many she stuffs she'll never be full,
nor will she be entirely empty.

though they taste so sweet
they will rot your teeth
and their effects shall be engraved in your skull

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not take a bite

no one tells the ugly girl with a mouth full of tombstones
that she gleefully presents for show and tell
that she too needs to eat, to keep it down

though the dissolving graves
withing her smile
tell a saddening tale

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not take a bite

no one tells her that her mind and mirror are distorting
morphing the person she truly is
into the person she hates to be

though her measurements are static
her body seems to inflate
like balloons at parties she avoided

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not that a bite

no one tells her that average isn't too heavy
that she can be loved and called beautiful at 120
and that she can love herself too

though she's grown accustomed
to the taste of acid and ice cream
and no sees no need for stopping

that candy apple cyanide
so hard to resist
so hard to not that a bite

no one tells the girl that she's wasting away her body
no one warned her of all the pain

no one warned her that her illnesses would always stay

the price you pay to be thin
you won’t even miss your fee,
it's just the feeling of empty

nevermind the color in your face,
draining into plastic bags,
filled with last nights hunger

no matter your darkening smile,
cracking into sunflower blossoms,
that you hide behind your knuckles.

don't bat an eye at your thinning hair,
swimming in your bathroom drain
strangling your hope of recovery.

now what could those tired eyes,
broken and red with strain say that
puffy cheeks and chapped lips cannot

lips like concrete, spilling weeds,
lips stuffed with cigarette love,
lips that once bloomed spoken word

but you smell of no dandelions.
you wear perfume of stomach bile
mixed with the stench of hatred.

the smell that every bathroom you visit
knows like the back of your hand,
the hand scarred with teeth’s embrace.

the side effects aren’t pretty
but that’s all a small price to pay
for the feeling of trying to be thin.

Only then did I realize I was starving for something food could no longer satisfy.

X-rays always made her feel like a model,
The doctor always taking her pictures.
She always posed.
Every imperfection, every flaw in her porcelain skin,
They refused to overlook.
They had to inspect her,
Make sure she wasn’t contagious.
“Drink this, eat that, take these.
Let us shove tubing down your throat
So we can find you another pill”
And she was absolutely sick and tired
Of all of the rules and tubes and wires
And people she didn’t know touching all over her,
Making her feel
“Better”
It made her feel exposed.
Cold.
Like she was some
******* bunny for a physical health magazine.
Her nostrils were stained with
The strong scent of hand sanitizer.
And she couldn’t keep the hospital food down,
And the shower was always freezing cold…
But at least they could make her feel
“Better”
Erasing the taste of
Copper anorexia at the back of her throat,
She’s just an experiment.