BLADESNBONES, They Break My Heart.

WE STARE AT BROKEN CLOCKS,

THE HANDS DONT TURN ANYMORE.

I am scared. I can say this with honesty. I dont think I am alive anymore. I am merely a shell, a withering, frozen soul, trapped in this body by a demon with long fingers, scrapes on the knuckles. I was succeeding, almost. Subway vegetarian sandwich, 230. Subway cookie, 220. Three egg whites, 51. Tomato, 17. Butter, 25. Equals 543.

Then another cookie. Pretzels, coated in vanilla yogurt. A smoothie made from ice cream, soy milk and banana. Potatoes with butter.

Then the bathroom, shower running, vomit dripping from my lips, tears streaking eyeliner down my cheeks, thick slime running down my forearm and dripping onto my scarred thighs, monsters of fat and bone and muscle and fat fat fat. I get out all I can. It is not enough, never enough. But it is all I can.

I puked again in the shower, without meaning to. I still have no control over my vomitting. I puked again all over my bedroom floor. Twice when I was with my friend. Numerous times when I was with my mom. People are starting to worry. I fall over because Im to dizzy to make my legs hold my body up. I shiver because Im cold. The demon in my chest beats me from the inside out with a baseball bat until my heart aches and flutters and beats frantically in my chest.

I think I am dying soon. I can feel it, in the coldness of my limbs. But I cant die yet. Not yet. Not until I am perfection. Not until I am right. Until this is all worth it.

But it will never be worth it. It never is.

I will only ever be a zombie, a paper doll without eyes, held up on thin wire. Not alive, but not quite dead either.

I will only ever be food, and scales, and the toilet, and scales. And tears. And blood.

I wish I was dead. I want nothing more.

Goodnight.

Micha,

BLADESNBONES.