I want to kiss like a girl.
It's always there. This girlishness I have. The way my shoulders dip or how my waist thins near the center.
Girly like - sweet, pale, soft.
The way my knuckles used to grip the merciless white porcelain as the tunnel of my throat spasms. The room filled with pathetic sobs.
I don't cry when I do it anymore. It's like an automatic thing. I no longer flinch as my fingernails scrape against the back of my throat. The way my stomach flips.
I look in the mirror when I'm done. I feel proud of myself - I know, I know, it's sick. But I can't help but to smile as I see my lips turned red with blood and my pupils dilated.
The girlishness of it all, is the way I feel afterward. It's not like I can just stop, it hasn't even started to work yet. Sure, the cycle isn't pretty but I will be.
I'll never get better - it's not like I want to.
Nothing I will do, will make me any less of a doe.
