Bulimia
Eat
Eat
Those words I hate
This isn’t a cry, I just hate the way it taste
as its greasy eyes and melted sun linger over the bun.
A whisper lingers in my ear, spilling hurtful little lies.
Clinics and shrinks tell me I am mental
It is all in your head stop being non-cynical.
My mother says to be perfect, you must project
To be perfect is to neglect,
So why can’t I get this correct.
The smell makes me queasy,
Maybe a little uneasy
I take a bite
Maybe two or three.
This mirror starts to hate me,
aggravating my soul
letting me see I have no self-control.
This body is wavering.
I push, till it comes up,
and soon I'm at ease,
For this whale has been lifted.
My hair is dull, my body thin
I feel nothing within
ED has become my friend, he is unrelenting
He lingers in this hellhole that has begun
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