Monday, August 13, 2018

It hurts - a not poetic poem

Swimming in thick mud
Constantly kicking, trying to stay afloat
If you stop for even a second 
The currents will drag you under 
Taking everything in just a moment. 

I try to tear away 
I try to unpeal the claws that are so deeply entrenched 
Nails dig in, the hold tightens 
The more I push and fight
The stronger the shackles become 
The faster I’m towed backward. 

The light is there but fading 
The thick blackness swamps 
It’s around my neck, my throat tightens 
I have to stop screaming now
It washes over my face 
I’m under, holding my breath 
What’s the point though? 
It seems my fate is decided, death. 

There’s nothing pretty about this 
Nothing poetic 
It’s my eating disorder killing me 

That is it. 

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