Is this morning a morning?
Still in a haze,
the morning dust,
the comfortable warmth--
all lingering.
Because,
the meal that usually washes away the morning is gone.
It never existed.
I’ll fight.
I’ll lie.
I’ll twist, argue, and connive.
But I won’t give in.
And if they try to get me to tell.
I’ll chop their heads off.
It’s simple.
They ask.
I don’t hear.
I won’t hear until I am passed out on the bed with my nonexistent limbs lying in a sort of living death where any speech but the goal pounding in my head is muddled.
But it can’t.
That can’t happen to me.
I’m strong, I know
It is wrong.
It’ll never get that far.
That’s what I tell myself.
I tell myself,
I’m going to be like them.
No one will be able to tell the difference.
I can dance and no one will complain
The everlasting critique will disappear and
I will be able to
d
a
n
c
e
Once more.
Who I used to be
never existed.
I’ll fight,
I’ll lie,
I’ll twist, argue and connive.
I know what I am doing.
I am starving myself.
But this dangerous game,
with death I play,
will soon come to an end.
I tell myself.