"mirror, mirror, on the wall
who's the fairest of them all?"
i whispered to my doleful reflection,
but this was no fairy tale:
this was a small town on a cold, foggy night.
my skeleton was so beautiful
i wanted to showcase it,
give onlookers a glimpse of my impending
death through my very flesh.
i could picture myself, edges carved away
like a cored apple.
i just wanted to feel real.
everyone around me chewed and swallowed so easily
but i just gnawed on my lip until i
tasted blood, and let
a piece of myself die.
the flavor made my mouth water
as my stomach ground out hoarse
requests for expansion, for meaning.
i held nothing within but pathetic yearning,
hollow with self-hatred.
i could only feel affection with pain.
perfection became my obsession,
consuming me alive the way i would have
loved to consume anything at all.
some part of me believe i could be a super model,
and living my life on ambition and emptiness
was the way to do it.
every day i watched the little numbers
on the bathroom scale plummet.
now, you see, i can't stop it.
only air enters my lips, too light, too light.
they tell me i'm beautiful,
that i belong on elle and vogue,
but they never spoke such words
when i was healthy.
this addictive disease will overtake me.
it holds my death in its hands like dice:
winner take all.
my body is paper, twisted like a cage,
and i've no choice but to go down with this ship.
tonight, i heard nothing but my dinner plate
yelling at me for what i have done.
i took my silverware and stabbed into my enemy,
watched the fragments divide: mitosis.
now i'm beautiful,
now i'm fit for magazines,
a flawless living cadaver.
well, at least i'll look gorgeous
on the day of my funeral.