4.19.18

Gracious gulps from glacial glasses of water.
Anxious forks frolicking across a plate.
The passing hours documented and bolded,
24 is the magic number.
My body is left with ravenous cues I should attend to.
But the pain
and the weight
and the steep slope I am sliding down
will never be enough for me,
just as I will never be enough for you.
It's been so long since I've done this,
but maybe it's time to get back on track,
to the days where my limbs were lithe
and my mind was fixated at maintaining
the double digits occupying my scale;
back to the restless hours of a hunger
I refused to listen to,
to the noise in my head cancelling everything around me
and the sickening delight of my

d

   o

w 

    n

  w

       a

    r

       d

 s 

          p

  i

       r

a 

       l

to bones bursting from skin

and pounds melting from my waxen body.

This comes and goes in waves

and for the past few days

I have been pushing my head beneath the waters,

forcing myself to drown.