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