one sip, a thousand reasons
that no one's ever gonna ask
a million tears, one year
a hundred heartaches, one glass
too many drinks
and still way too much pain
one sip turns into much more
drinking the world away
I wrote that, drunk on laxatives and red wine, shaking from the combination. Purged the red wine, and the former purged themselves, until I was a dehydrated mess of emptiness. Some may cringe away, as if they could block it out. Block out the truth. But, at the same time, perhaps some will look away only because they see a reflection of themselves in these words.
It isn't glamorous. No one ever promised it would be. You hear anorexia, or addict, or whatever society-stricken label you've been assigned... you see a beautifully skinny girl. You never see the nights cried, wrapping into herself from the pain. No one ever thinks of the trembling hands and the bruises on her back from hours of sit-ups. Or the blood painting the rim, laughing back up at you. No one ever really sees the rejected plates, the nightmares lived, the punishments and unforgivements.
But they're there. They're always there.
The road to perfection is pathed with water and self-loathing. It's a well worn road. For me, I can't turn around and go back. I'm chained here, and the key is only at the end. So I walk.
Step after famished step, I walk.
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