ana thoughts.

late at night. anorexia.

Silver Bones.

Let me see them. Your emaciated body is like violent pornography to my wasted eyes. Give me your pain, I'll take it all, princess. Watch you dance alone under the white spotlight, while your size -100 dress slips off of your slim shoulders, like melted swan down in an elegant puddle on the shifty floor. You're naked and I love that. I need that. You're so small now. You're invisible. Invisible is beautiful. Invisible is the new beautiful. You take up negative space, the black hole of your painfully lovely and sought-after existence sucking us into your mesmer-dipped dance. *breath*

Two. Three. Eleven white spotlights. Eleven silver dresses on the floor. So tiny clothes are no longer an option - an necessity from a forgotten human world. So thin that you're elevated to be a goddess and you are above clothing. You're no mere skeleton, your wisps of soul inside you make the bleached white bones dance in an eerie, effortless and flawless ballet, a macrabe testimony to what we all seek to be, but will hardly ever be good enough to attain.

your majesty. we await you in the throne room...

A throne room of skinny jeans, slim clothes, skinny love painted with my blood on the walls. What happened, skinny love? I'm sorry. I'm too scared of the darkness. But this time I'll grab your hand and never ever let you go because you and I are one, skinny love, you haunt me like a lovesick parasite, an immortal one, and I am your host, blind, stupid, submissive, vulnerable, willing. Tied naked to a bed and loving every second of my disgusting bludgeoning. I'll feel the bruises and know that it's just because of you, skinny love, you care about me; you want me to win. You've invaded my vapor, wisp of a soul and will work me until my skeleton dances with your masquerade on the white-lit floor. 

A body hits the floor. The spotlight grows brighter. A death in the house of the thin. Don't worry. Your attendants will pick you up and manipulate your broken body and make you dance because; when you're thin enough, vitality is a matter of your flimsy past.  Your beauty and ability to suck everyone into your negative calorie abyss matters more than the shallow breath in your ever-so-quickly shrinking lungs. You are a puppet. A dying marionette. A lovely, liquid skeleton, hanging from a rope tied to the crescent moon.

Author's Note

these are my thoughts late at night after my eating disorder was triggered. it's there to represent my thoughts regarding thin people, how no matter how hard you try, your anorexia will try to convince you that there's always further to go, and that someone is more beautiful than you. this piece is also trying to convey that beauty is more than an appearance, but your closeness to immortality. this is best when you imagine a girl with a dark voice, breathy at some bits, reading it. the italics as accented words, the bolded words as words spoken louder. the strikethroughs represent the anorexic mind blocking thoughts about how their eating disorder is ruining their life. its basically about an anorexic girl getting lost in her thoughts, talking to her eating disorder in her head, envisioning her eating disorder as a beautiful queen telling her what to do, her attendants surrounding her in a moonlit palace. also includes violent sex references, to represent the complete submission of an anorexic to her disorder. just tell me what you think of the imagery, words, and the new perspective it may give you regarding anorexia and bulimia. it's mainly geared towards anorexics, seeing as that is the disorder i suffer from. my goal is for people to understand that it isn't all about vanity.

Reviews

[Miu]

Im not baking you cookies. I remeber when it was just you and me in Indie cause Ashley and Morgan were gettingStarbucks. I rember at the mall Dylan being worried about me. I know you said that your eating disorders ruin your realationships with guys. Just remebr that I love you. There comes a point in time when skinny becomes scary and gross. I love you :))