Counting the seconds. Counting the minutes. Counting the hours I can go. Soon to be counting the days maybe too? Will there be weeks? Will there be months? Will there be years? Is this the end or perhaps the beginning, the start of something horrid. My mind thinks of it often, as if to replace what it will never have. When can it be diagnosed? When is it stated rather than just thought? When will I stop? Will I ever stop? Who am I to tell myself the nasty things I think. Could it be true? I mean, I'm showing all the right signs. My mind never leaves the subject, the thing I call my body. Just one more hour. One more minute. One more second will make my body perfect.
( Eating disorders )
YOU ARE READING
Poetry from a broken soul
PoésiePoems written by me. Do not use without permission. Do not claim as your own. But hey, you probably will anyway. What's the point of asking you not to?
