Disease
A knot of hair encircles the sink,
A gag escapes my mouth.
I can taste the last of my luxuries,
and know I deserve a clout.
I cannot help but indulge sometimes,
when warnings are not there.
But the little voice always creeps back,
and makes me start to care.
When a hand encloses around my wrist,
the fingers look too small.
They cannot feel my skin and bones,
so I’m not fairest of them all.
I know that victory cannot hurt,
So I keep on fighting for victory’s worth.
Sometimes I have a craving for a double chocolate shake.
Instead I give myself to ecstasy,
and tell my mind tells me to wait.
They say I’ve begun to shake a bit,
that my disease has made me weak.
But I can feel them laughing at me,
every time I eat.
