kayox

Empty. I feel so empty all the time. It's this hollow feeling in my chest. It's not hungry and it's not longing. It's just there, every single day. It consumes me completely and overwhelms me fully. Food will never fill it. Nothing can fill it. But being skinny can shrink it. I can't imagine what it was like before this. All I know is being hungry. Being fat. Horrified of myself. Controlling everything. I can never sleep. Can never function right. I do everything as wrong as possible. I mess up because I am messed up. I'm trapped in my own misery and the worst part is that I wouldn't have it any other way. My life would be even more misera

In the morbidly eventful years of my teenage life, I met a boy. Let's call him Jack, from The Hanged Man. He had a skeleton face and an appetite for destruction. Tattoos and muscles and such a beautifully sad past, I still wonder how he became such an abstract and charming person. Feelings aside, intimacy irrelevant, this boy became a main character in the plot of my slowly deteriorating young adulthood. He rescued me, in a very fucked up way, from myself. His compliments always made my day, he never said anything generic or expected. I could talk to him about books and hold painfully depressing conversations with him about my nauseating past

People are canvases Our pictures tell stories We are our hopes and dreams We are our fears Painted in vivid reds and yellows Cool blues and greens Our art overlaps Each canvas, a collage of ourselves The artist, he understands this He values every life and every story He sees beauty where there is only pain Never judging, eyes wide open We are a collective mural We are art, and we are beautiful

     I can only see her out of the corner of my eye, while I'm driving and biting my lip. She's sucking in her cigarette smoke and her legs are crossed with poise. She's my polar opposite; she has jet-black hair and blue-white skin. Everything about her is sharp and vicious. Her teeth look like miniature straight razors, jagged and dangerous. The stilettos on her feet point black dagger heels towards hell. She's the devil, I think. People call her Ana, for anorexia. That name doesn't do her any justice. She's deserving of something more horrible, like Persephone, the wife of Hades. Her eyes have no color. They are dark and ominous black holes

Here we go again. I'm stuck in this perpetual cycle. I refuse to eat for days. "No thanks, I'm not hungry," and, "I already ate." Nobody knows a truth from a lie anymore, I suppose that's her job. She does it quite well. I have lost control over my one constant - my searing need for control itself. What beautifully sad irony, such a beautifully sad little soul. Then I admit that I'm sick. The last thing my mother does before I leave the house? She reminds me to eat. Begs with me. Pleads. I go out, and my friends do the same. I don't want pity, or sympathy, or worry. Concern isn't something I appreciate. The nagging gets old. Sometimes, I d

I'm sick of reflecting But here we go again Anxious, sitting here Some things may never change I found my drug Oh, cocaine It shoots up my nose It vibrates my veins My weakness, isolation It's killing me, I know My strength, medication Can't afford to let it go Racing heart and brain Strangley aware and yet so numb Adrenaline articulated fiercely What have I now become? Monster in the mirror Don't eat, snort another line Pour a drink, have a smoke Promise you'll be fine Then anxiety, it criples As problems always do You fiend for more, you'd kill to score Your weaknesses define you And so the clock is ticking Cocaine

Haven't slept It's 11:11 I wish to see my ribs Please don't let me eat today Coffee, cigarettes Coffee, books Hands shaking can't turn the pages Burnt myself didn't feel a thing Dark circles Pale skin like a corpse Living dead I'm not really living, anymore Smile laugh smile No, I'm not hungry I already ate Who's stomach is growling? Feed her Friends everywhere I dream about you dying Can't trust you, backstabber They're out to get me, I swear Delusional and bleeding What's inpatient mean? It's summer, I feel like winter She loves me, she loves me not... Anorexia don't leave Without you I can't breathe Why be strong?

I'm not really sure what happened to me when I was a child. What it is that makes me feel empty. Makes me bleed, starve. I feel like an empty glass. Fragile and shattered but somehow still whole. Whole and empty.

Waking up to dawn anew Criticism sprinkled dew Found reflections in her pond Ugly duckling replacing swan Fought a battle fierce and raw Day and night she never saw Truth or reality, only horror Trapped inside a broken mirror Won the fight with wretched thoughts Live to eat she did not Struggled with controlling portions Resulting in mental contortion Days grew longer, she grew pale Between the sleet, rain, snow and hail Slow movement and weakened pace Losing is winning in this race Man and woman equally smitten Brittle bones no longer hidden Forth from her cage she spread her wings Hypocrisy she will not sing Skeleton of

you ask me why want an answer like things are really that simple as if you'd need a reason or an excuse to make yourself bleed refuse to eat vomit everything tremble and cry as if you'd need a cause for this effect of mutilated girl an absent appetite making herself sick pathetic tears i really can't explain why something sharp is always within reach cigarettes and coffee are all i need my teeth scrape my knuckles in haste the emotions overwhelm me completely if you had to guess you might say i'm masochistic vain over-dramatic sensitive to be honest, i don't feel the blade when it cuts i will never like my body i