What's in the mirror isn't me... is it?
Who is that, that thing.
It's not me, Is it?
Staring in disbelief, the blob of fat, staring at me.
Spending so much time staring, prodding, pulling, scratching. What time is it? By the time I know it I've spent longer than I can remember, lost in my imperfections.
Skipping breakfast is easy, I've never really eaten breakfast, I don't need it.
I don't need it.
Going the rest of the day is easy if I keep myself busy, drowning the hunger with water.
When I give in and eat my body feels lethargic, disgusting, the putrid feeling of the skin on my body. I've always been fat, the fat kid.
Remember, remember what he told you.
"Look down. If you can't see your toes you're overweight." I am.
Maybe just maybe if I go long enough I'll look like her, I'll look pretty, I will feel pretty.
I hate knowing the skin I live in, I hate knowing what I look like, the thought makes me wretch.
Living in this body is a sin.
I'll never eat again.
Oh how it feels so nice the growl of my stomach, it means I'm getting better, right?
Oh how I fall in love with the feeling of my stomach hurting, I'll shed my useless body, maybe then, just then, I'll be happy in the skin I was born in. Maybe then I'll like the mirror.
I'll waste, restrict, and starve, until euphoria surrounds me.
