ᗪ 🪡ིྀ

I write from the deepest depths of where my swallowed up words rest heavy

[pocketkeptboy]

Do I want to be thinner or do I just want there to be less of me for the world to see

[pocketkeptboy]

I still remember the very last birthday that I had eaten my cake, excited to enjoy something delicious on my special day

now no occasion will ever convince me that I deserve such a thing, so I’ll watch everybody else enjoy my gift

choking on my tears and drinking my calorie free drink

how could I cry over such a silly thing

[pocketkeptboy]

No kind of affection will ever feel as good as watching your body wilt into nothing

[pocketkeptboy]

And every meal I skip and every bite I refuse it’s in hopes that maybe one day it’ll make me into someone’s kind of boy

[pocketkeptboy]

I only feel beautiful when I’m getting smaller, in order to be even slightly content with myself my body must be actively deteriorating

[pocketkeptboy]

Isnt it odd that pain is only pleasurable when you inflicted it yourself

an injury could be agonizing but if it’s done by you it’s relieving

[pocketkeptboy]

His choices have left a thick disgusting layer on me. And it moves, it grabs and it caresses but not out of love. So I will scrub and I will scrub until my skin is raw, burning and sensitive — but the feeling of his hands will remain like it’s beneath the surface. The filth I feel penetrates into my body like he became part of me, walking and living in the disgust he made me. No amount of cleanliness will purify that. And no amount of crying will wash away my discomfort. I will never win, but when I finally do — it will be when I no longer breathe. And in the depths of the ground where my body is buried, when I decay even the bugs will not want to feed from me. My body is a home to pain rather than a blessing that takes care of me. And that it will remain.