I feel so weak

I have a big sweet tooth, and yet I never eat.

Disgust, my reflection staring back at me.

A drop of blood falls on the porcelain of the sink.

I don’t rush to stop it.

Drip. Drip. Dripping.

I find the crimson tone brings me comfort as my head starts to float and my heart sinks.

A slow, and pacing beat.

Hands shaking and dryness coating my tongue.

I feel so weak.

“You’re pretty. You’d be prettier if you tried more.”

Yet they never notice how I don’t eat.

The waist of my jeans sitting tight as I grip my stomach.

A step into the shower, one foot, then the next.

Water scalding yet I’m still so cold.

Soap running down my eyes and I keep them open.

Because then I feel something other than numb.

Reaching for the faucet and the steam slows as the water halts to a stop.

Cotton, and lavender.

The soft and worn clothes slide onto my figure and I wish someone would wrap me as tight as they do.

Resting on my bed, the mattress groaning under my weight as I turn and tussle.

My body slowly drifting into a sleep, calling me like a siren song.

Deep and comforting darkness.

And as my eyes settle and my breathing slows all I can think is that I feel so weak.