Hipbones haunting paling skin
Whispering of freedom
Wanted
Whispering of freedom
Buried
Whispering of freedom
That seems a lifetime away
She misses the delicate ladder of ribcage
The ivory steps that she would climb
With ice-tipped fingers
As she drifted
Drifted away
On a fog of near-death sleep
She misses the string of pearls
That once cascaded down her back
A trail of hidden jewels
An overlooked antique
Priceless to her
And her
Alone
So strange
This thing called Health
Like putting on make-up for the first time:
Unsure hands, shaking
Hesitant to produce results
Hesitant to add to the blank slate of familiar-nothing
Hesitant to ruin what took so long to create
She hates you all
Hates you for making her become this monster
This thing
That she no longer recognizes
Trapped behind the glass
Caught inside the mirror
Suffocated beneath a blanket of fat
She longs for what she was before
Longs to be the person
Who you all feared
Despised
And thought of as weak
(This is weak
This is to be feared)
She opens her mouth to speak
Her voice catching like a piece of loose thread
Her sentence floating to the ground like a feather
Barely making a sound
Barely punctuating the air
(Can you feel her jealousy in the absence of weight?)
You do not see the power
You do not see the strength it takes
To chip away
To minimize
To shrink down what was always too big
You do not understand her desire
You do not understand her desire to have it back
That power
That strength
That ability
To mold something so imperfect
Into such perfection
She is gaining
Gaining
Gaining weight
As she loses
Loses
Loses her mind
Wishing to become as thin as her sanity
A stick-figure of her hated-self
Wishing her muscles would tear
Come apart at the seams
Wishing her bones would crumble
Collapse into a pile of dust
Wishing
Wishing
Wishing
(When you wish upon a star
You know youre @#%$ desperate)
And her hipbones are haunting
Her bleeding skin
As she tries to sleep the day away
Dreaming of skeletons
Wanted
Dreaming of accomplishments
Buried
Dreaming of something
That seems a lifetime away
Whispering of freedom
Wanted
Whispering of freedom
Buried
Whispering of freedom
That seems a lifetime away
She misses the delicate ladder of ribcage
The ivory steps that she would climb
With ice-tipped fingers
As she drifted
Drifted away
On a fog of near-death sleep
She misses the string of pearls
That once cascaded down her back
A trail of hidden jewels
An overlooked antique
Priceless to her
And her
Alone
So strange
This thing called Health
Like putting on make-up for the first time:
Unsure hands, shaking
Hesitant to produce results
Hesitant to add to the blank slate of familiar-nothing
Hesitant to ruin what took so long to create
She hates you all
Hates you for making her become this monster
This thing
That she no longer recognizes
Trapped behind the glass
Caught inside the mirror
Suffocated beneath a blanket of fat
She longs for what she was before
Longs to be the person
Who you all feared
Despised
And thought of as weak
(This is weak
This is to be feared)
She opens her mouth to speak
Her voice catching like a piece of loose thread
Her sentence floating to the ground like a feather
Barely making a sound
Barely punctuating the air
(Can you feel her jealousy in the absence of weight?)
You do not see the power
You do not see the strength it takes
To chip away
To minimize
To shrink down what was always too big
You do not understand her desire
You do not understand her desire to have it back
That power
That strength
That ability
To mold something so imperfect
Into such perfection
She is gaining
Gaining
Gaining weight
As she loses
Loses
Loses her mind
Wishing to become as thin as her sanity
A stick-figure of her hated-self
Wishing her muscles would tear
Come apart at the seams
Wishing her bones would crumble
Collapse into a pile of dust
Wishing
Wishing
Wishing
(When you wish upon a star
You know youre @#%$ desperate)
And her hipbones are haunting
Her bleeding skin
As she tries to sleep the day away
Dreaming of skeletons
Wanted
Dreaming of accomplishments
Buried
Dreaming of something
That seems a lifetime away
My hands hold my elbows, which feel like stones poking my palms. I imagine a body made of stones, knocking sounds when the body walks, no pain when it falls, but people point and whisper, Poor thing, she's got no flesh, she's just a sorry pile of stones
~ excerpt from The Bullet Collection ~
~ excerpt from The Bullet Collection ~
