Sometimes
when I look in the mirror
i'm startled to see
me

When
I scrub off the pen lines
odd bits of makeup
all that's left is me

I stand there
bare and trembling
these are the pieces of me
and maybe I'm starving

but at least
I can feel myself smiling
because
these are the marks of my survival

Have you ever starved yourself to the point of sickness?
Empty and hallow and still trying to give pieces of yourself that don’t exist
You take another pill, tell another lie, say to yourself, your family and friends you are fine
Eat just enough to get by
Hope they don’t notice the gaps getting larger between your meals and your thighs
You take sleeping pills because sleep has become harder and harder to reach
The pit in your stomach screams loudly
Warning you that it’s empty
Reluctantly you go and swallow your pride
And hope that will last you through the evening

I need cigarettes
and evenings filled with long sighs

                      and
                                 fragments
                                        mettled
                                          poems
                         and more cigarettes

                          waiting for my angst
                                     to form stanzas

                      tonight I’ll probably just
                                  cough a lot
                                          and go to bed early,

      
            but first I need cigarettes.

My body craves it, but I don’t want it

Every time I think of it, I sense the bile in my throat

Don’t give in.  

“I love the feeling, the burning.”

Can’t you tell? I’ve been raised like this

Indulging in the emptiness

Nothingness.

Eat.

Neglect
by Michael R. Burch

What good are tears?
Will they spare the dying their anguish?
What use, our concern
to a child sick of living, waiting to perish?

What good, the warm benevolence of tears
without action?
What help, the eloquence of prayers,
or a pleasant benediction?

Before this day is over,
how many more will die
with bellies swollen, emaciate limbs,
and eyes too parched to cry?

I fear for our souls
as I hear the faint lament
of theirs departing ...
mournful, and distant.

How pitiful our “effort,”
yet how fatal its effect.
If they died, then surely we killed them,
if only with neglect.

Keywords/Tags: neglect, starving, dying, perishing, famine, illness, disease, tears, anguish, concern, prayers, inaction, death

"Even today, I have a lot of trouble figuring out if I’m hungry or not. I often can’t tell until I’m starving. I don’t trust those little inklings of hunger I have before the starving stage, since anything outside of mealtime is supposed to be quelled by a ******* piece of fruit.

Over time, [I was taught] that I should decide what to eat with my brain, not my stomach. So eventually, my stomach just gave up."