Pretty Little Pink,

all wrapped up in silk,

for me.

Beautiful you are,

a gift to gaze upon,

making the hunger grow inside.

My oh my,

you do look delectable, my dear;

and I am starving.

The siren.
Inviting,
Promising.
Ensuring happiness.
Guaranteeing joy.
Not until she traps you do you wish escape.
Not from what she promised, but from the pain she brought you.
But you've made a home for yourself here.
You've gotten comfortable in the habits she's given you.
But every time she comes to visit, something in your gut screams at you to escape.
No, literally. Your gut. Your stomach. Your intestines.
Your entire body becomes exhausted from chasing her promises.
Now, you've forgotten who you were before she trapped you.
You try and try for what feels like years to escape.
And finally you succeed.
You've successfully escaped the place you call home.
After time and time of being lured back to home, I've come to learn this sirens name.
She is what she does to people. To me.
Forces me to control what I eat.
Makes me second guess myself.
Track everything I eat and drink.
Make me guilty for eating something she doesn't like.
I won't bore you with more boringly grim details, just know,
She has sisters.
Please, don't make the mistake of trusting their promises.

I'm starving with a fridge full of expectations.

I starve my body in hopes
it'll nourish my mind
I toy with the idea
that I could feel any emptier as I skip meals
and stick a toothbrush down my throat

When I sit in front of the toilet
I wonder
If I was so small
I disappeared
How long would you mourn me for?

Crouching on the mud dirt ground,
Is a child,
sweat, blood, tears,
Smudging its face,
Sunken eyes,
Sinking deeper into its face,
Of misery,
Of loss,
Of a crippled reality,
So harsh- unjust,
Its skin is paper thin,
Eyes like a nights sky,
But missing the stars,

Its 7,
Still pure,
Still innocent,
Unlike the world,
Who turned against it,
Before it even took its first breath,
It was this world that killed its parent's,
Siblings, Uncles and Aunts,
Killed its soul,
Cut out the love,
Pushed forward the pain,
This world seems to think its funny- a game,
But it's not,
It's not,
It's a boy,
And nobody ever learned his name.

The scarcity of clarity gained
From a three day aching
stomach
;
My only blessing, hollowness;
Hallowed this, I lie
Laying in an anguish

starved of satisfaction;

Grabbing fat that isn’t there,
Dulling eyes
And thinning hair

Peeling skin and bones that ache
Drying mouth
And “bathroom breaks”

Waking up to stomach rumbles
Stagnant breath
And steps that tumble

Dreams of food and calories
Diet pills
And longer sleeves

Endless nights and skin that chills
Never eating
To feed what kills

Being skinny has the price
Of six feet down
And three feet wide

Thy honey's taste turned sweet to sour,
  though continuing to stick
Ne'er would a starving old black bear
  indulge itself one lick.