My Tragedies

Empty

I search for words to describe how beautiful my tragedy is. How beautiful these feelings can be. The physical and the mental feelings that intertwine in the very being of how empty, how damn empty, I can be.

To open my mouth and allow the monsters inside scares me, and shakes me to my core, and it breaks open my sanity, and out spills my mania. My mania that I cannot name. That I will not name. Even I know there are words that should never be said. Words that should never exist.

It's beautiful. Watching my body take shape and form at every change that I make. The control that I use as my drug and I'll never give it away because I've fallen so far into my addiction. But it's beautiful.

I want to be empty. I love being empty. It's lovely how long I can go being empty. How long I can endure the pain and the gnawing on my stomach. The gnawing is satisfying. So satisfying I need more, I need more, the more I get the more control I have.

The agony my stomach likes to feel when starving is blissful. The pain I deserve to feel overtakes my body and I bask in the glory of my emptiness. Holding back tears is another pain I deserve to bear. No tears, no sorrow, no self pity, when all is for the monster that I am. I embrace my own monstrosity.

I'm a greedy monster. Some days I give in to the poison and let nourishment fall down into my empty pit. A weakness must be punished. Shoving bony fingers down a frustrated throat. A pastime I find nearly as satisfying as drowning in my emptiness.

The poison leaves my body in a torrent of pain I almost can't bear. Each time I endure my punishment the pain doubles, triples, quadruples. My ribcage wriths and turns and creaks as the poison falls from my gaping hole of a mouth. But it's gone and I stay and it's worth every single strain I put on my body.

My heart despises my empty addiction. My heart hates being empty. I fill it with whatever I can to keep going, keep it directed. Only my stomach need feel my demise. The effects take a toll on the rest of my body sure, but my heart manages to stay beating. Stay full. Stay hooked on a feeling, any feeling, as long as I'm not empty in my soul.

I play pretend with my emptiness. Pretend that every scrap I manage to keep away from is a point. I have so many points racked up I refuse to lose this game this game that keeps me going and keeps me satisfied with my broken stature.

My emptiness. It's beautiful. To tell me otherwise is to break and burn my the thoughts I know are true. To say they are wrong is to break my soul and leave it empty. How dare people say my addiction is wrong when it leaves me empty? I want to be empty. In body, not soul. I want to stay empty. I want to change.

You can call me Matthew. You can call me a fool or anything. But I call me empty. And with that I stay satisfied.