It isn’t something you can just get rid of
It isn’t something you can just get rid of
It sticks and it sticks and it sticks
You can’t get rid of it
Similar to other illnesses in which you can’t full get rid of them
Your only hope is to manage it
Some call him Ed
Some call her Ana
They can be a monster
Or eerily human
Its purpose is harm
The intent is to eat and eat and eat away at your soul while stopping you from doing the same
Not a bite
Not a drink
Not a smell
Don’t even think—
About those evil substances
Who’s only purpose is to make you hurt
To be pure—
To be clean—
Is to be empty.
The numbers on the packages transfer to the scale
“It’s your choice” they say
The number on the scale goes up
“It’s your choice” he says
The number on the scale stays the same
“It’s your choice” she says
The number on the scale goes down
And down and down and down and down and down
Until the perfect number is reached
It isn’t enough
Your sense of accomplishment gone as quick as it came
It’s never enough
You try and you try but satisfaction keeps running away
“You’ll get used to it” she says
Your hands constantly shake, is it from fatigue or that constant chill?
“You’ll get used to it” he says
You can’t think or see properly, perpetual brain fog and god forbid you stand up too fast
“You’ll get used to it” they say
Going through phases of either constantly avoiding or looking into mirrors, trying to gauge what you actually look like
And yes, you will get used to it
The shaking, the chill, the brain fog, the poor vision, the newfound love or hate of mirrors
All of it will become normal, routine
And even when you think you’ve cracked the code
When you finally think you can make it all go away
It stays
And it sticks
And it will never go away \