anorexia revisited (but not by me)
august 14, 2009

she stared in the mirror, at her bloodless face,
her lips a much lighter shade of pink than natural.
the circles under her eyes were in stark contrast to the surrounding ivory,
though her face had once been bronze and rosy with sun and life.
her fingers felt like ice as she placed them on her cheekbones,
tracing them down her hollowed face, and as her hands slid downward,
her eyelids followed suit.
her knees began to give; she backed against the wall and sunk to the floor.
her head sagged; her shoulders caved, she knew this was death.
and she'd caused it herself.
then, all she could feel was the hard floor against her bones, and her heartbeat.
it was too fast. it was trying to pump her back to life. it was failing.
she was falling, turning, falling and turning,
and she suddenly realized how hard her body had worked all along just to breathe-

rubber. on her chin. on her nose. breathing for her. beeping.
and darkness.


voices she knew. close by, but not talking to her. about her. about her.
about what would happen next. about what might happen. what might not.
about her surviving. her chances. who would care for her.

alone. starchy sheets. bright lights. machines, tubes, no one.
her lips hurt. she felt heavy, filled with lead.
a nurse with a bag of clear fluid, walking toward her.
and she knew she was alive again
and she was not sure she liked it.