Dear Anorexia

I slipped you on 

like a little black dress

but you stuck to my skin 

like oil. Smothering spill 

on the surface of my sanity;

you madden me.

 

I am not an ocean, but I feel vast. 

Covered by you,

vicious veneer,

cold clot on the once-curves 

that I lost, like casualties of war,

but 

 

the shimmer on my body is inviting.

yes, it's enticing to see

bones being born

from the fading folds of flesh,

rising to rally around me.

 

ribbons of ribs;

little homunculi

they seem to me, gallant soldiers

enclosing my chest in a cage.

Should I befriend them? 

I am smaller now.

 

I hear you,

pounding in my head

like a second heartbeat 

smaller

smaller

smaller 

so loudly I cannot breathe.

 

How does your weight 

wear heavy on my bones

when I am a feather

blowing away?

Grey matter

I wish I could scoop up your pretty head

and plunge my hand, tool and talon,  

past the opulent orb of your sea green eye

and touch grey matter. Would it matter

 

that your eyes closed for the last time,

if I could cop-a-feel of the cogs

in your clockwork mind; learn learn learn

my mistakes? Fix so many breaks? 

 

Surrender yourself silently

and submit to my desire.

I will open you up, look, and gorge. 

 

Art

I see a crumpled note strewn on the bed.

Paper grasped into a fist

or is it your skin?

 

ivory delights me, it's dangerous

how that ethereal glow

entices me to make unholy that flawless white

with veins of black ink.

 

poems and letters

are bubbling up and cluttering your body;

a monochrome mess.

 

I must open you 

(even frantically)

to smooth out the creases, and

cover over those words.

Cover you.

 

Your body is my canvas

but these mistakes go more than skin deep.

Can I wash them away?

Scratch?

Tear?

Oh darling, I am turning it red.

Drowning

 

Those two lips were the iron gates of hell.

spitting venomous words, sugar coated pills.

Hard hook sinking into soft flesh

you reeled me in: flesh, bone, skin.

 

Judas mouth poised open, ready for the kill;

gawping gallows, gasping to swallow me

and engulf me in flames, dowse me in shame.

 

Your hook was different, you prefer the pierce

of a needle, the blur of the bottle,

to package yourself up in a shoe box 

and paint the inside the colours of your mind. 

 

I can't remember the first day I knew 

your mind had swallowed you up and vomited you anew.

You were a King when I didn't know you

but you shattered, scattering yourself like dust.

 

And I feel granular too. I watched pieces of you drift 

away, cracking like broken eggshell, too sharp to grasp.

My chest is tightening; the air feels thick, cold and wet.

What's happening to me? I think I am drowning.