cateka
Full Member
My salt imbalences are keeping me awake again it would seem...
I thought I would write a little poem about my bulimia, its not very good I don't feel, nor very insightful away from what people already know, but at least it gave me something to do for a while.
I shon like a star in the sky,
I had every form of pleasure,
Within this ultimate high,
I had all the things I treasured.
Back then I was so free,
Nothing could hold me down,
I had my life ahead of me,
But then I heard this sound,
A hissing voice from inside said;
"look carefully and you'll see,
Regardless of how you tried,
You're not what you want to be!"
"All that stuff around your waist,
You can't suck in all that,
You're a walking sack of paste,
Face it, you're just fat!"
At one hundred and eighteen pounds,
A crisis had emerged,
Self-respect crushed in the ground,
All clarity submerged.
I wondered why they lied,
My friends, my lovers, my mother
All night I choked and cried,
And unleashed my significant other.
She'll follow me to the grave,
And wrap around me tight at night,
She'll keep me locked like a slave,
And won't give up without a fight.
She reverses food I swallow,
I weep and sneeze and cough,
Cold and quivering and hollow,
I watch my skin peeling off.
From friends and family I hide,
I can't believe this is true,
Can't supress the fear inside,
They might find out what I do.
I crave water all the time,
So I drink away my salts,
Till my knees begin to buckle,
And my hair begins to malt.
My teeth turn dull and grey,
My body feels as heavy as lead,
Its what I'll have to pay,
For listening to voices in my head.
I can't see what everyone sees,
Where are the qualities you admire?
No flaws I could appease,
You're all a bunch of liars!
The drugs aren't working,
And I know they never will,
I swear I see them smirking,
Each and every pill.
To Buddha and Jesus I pray,
To forgive me for my gluttony,
Each and every single day,
Could they hold her back from hurting me?
And as the years pass by,
Seven of them to be exact,
Still I fight and try,
But its time to face the facts,
I might always be this way,
Maybe things will never change,
I might die this very day,
Yet I don't care... now isn't that strange?
I thought I would write a little poem about my bulimia, its not very good I don't feel, nor very insightful away from what people already know, but at least it gave me something to do for a while.
I shon like a star in the sky,
I had every form of pleasure,
Within this ultimate high,
I had all the things I treasured.
Back then I was so free,
Nothing could hold me down,
I had my life ahead of me,
But then I heard this sound,
A hissing voice from inside said;
"look carefully and you'll see,
Regardless of how you tried,
You're not what you want to be!"
"All that stuff around your waist,
You can't suck in all that,
You're a walking sack of paste,
Face it, you're just fat!"
At one hundred and eighteen pounds,
A crisis had emerged,
Self-respect crushed in the ground,
All clarity submerged.
I wondered why they lied,
My friends, my lovers, my mother
All night I choked and cried,
And unleashed my significant other.
She'll follow me to the grave,
And wrap around me tight at night,
She'll keep me locked like a slave,
And won't give up without a fight.
She reverses food I swallow,
I weep and sneeze and cough,
Cold and quivering and hollow,
I watch my skin peeling off.
From friends and family I hide,
I can't believe this is true,
Can't supress the fear inside,
They might find out what I do.
I crave water all the time,
So I drink away my salts,
Till my knees begin to buckle,
And my hair begins to malt.
My teeth turn dull and grey,
My body feels as heavy as lead,
Its what I'll have to pay,
For listening to voices in my head.
I can't see what everyone sees,
Where are the qualities you admire?
No flaws I could appease,
You're all a bunch of liars!
The drugs aren't working,
And I know they never will,
I swear I see them smirking,
Each and every pill.
To Buddha and Jesus I pray,
To forgive me for my gluttony,
Each and every single day,
Could they hold her back from hurting me?
And as the years pass by,
Seven of them to be exact,
Still I fight and try,
But its time to face the facts,
I might always be this way,
Maybe things will never change,
I might die this very day,
Yet I don't care... now isn't that strange?
