The silent prayer

You eat
like you hope that
one day
you will find something
that will complete you
justify your presence
in this world
and give you meaning.

Instead
you are filled with
rage and anger
and an unsurpassable desire
to tear yourself apart.

To punish yourself
for everything you are not.

Leaving the forgotten

You sit there
in that sterile room
and they are all
dead.

All dead

behind the eyes.

Like their heart beats

to preserve
just
skin and bone.

Nothing else.

And they move

from the chair
to the bed
to the scales.
 

Compliant.

Walking shells.

There is nothing

there.

There is nothing there

because they want to
fade out.
 

Carcasses who wait.

Like carcasses who

wait
in the hope
that one glorious day
someone will be able to
breath
life back into
what little remains.

But they are

dead
behind the eyes.

 And life is so far out.

Their life is too far out.

Whilst the robot in their mind

repeats their mantra;
you are not ill
you are not worthy.

And reason dictates

the only way to cure this is to
eat less.
 
Shrinking bodies
keep the decaying mind
occupied
until sanity
can be placed neatly away.
 
Pushed so far back.
 
And you
can sit for hours
in that room.

Repeating empty words

into deaf ears.

There is no light.

Merely nods of

abandonment
or agreement
designed purely to pacify.

For she is master

in her own universe
where you are not invited
to play.

And you walk quietly away.

Knowing each step

takes you
no further than she has
already gone.

Then a tear.

For the girls

the girl in that room.

Weeping

at the loss of a soul
you once knew lived and breathed
alight with possibilities
now
carved into a shadow.

And she is dead.

Behind the eyes.

This space (So small)

Between
the edge of
a diminishing reality
and encroaching insanity
exists
a space so small

barely visible
to the naked eye

where ghost girls
have squeezed themselves
in the hope
of salvation

shrinking
ever more
to prevent their hips
from catching.

Let me be weak

If it shines
so small

so simple

mistaken
by a naive heart
for a promise
of all tomorrows

then let me be weak

and close my eyes
so I might never know

afraid
that under the light
you might find me

lit up

visible

so let me be weak.

Your words (they are stalling)

You say
silence, darkness...forever
as if it is a bad thing.

Yet at least
there wouldn't be this noise.

No constant battle.

Or searing pain.

A fine balancing act

I am not convinced
that death
did not betray her.

Made the act of living
too hard
but kept her undertaking
at arms length
so that
where she was left
was neither here nor there.

A foot on either side.

And in the middle
a body.

Her body
which clung to her bones
sucking her dry
of every living thought
she had
ever had
until all that was left
was a case.

The fraction of what
she had once been.

And a mind

caged.

Battle Cry

Hear the calling,
for it will soon be time
for battle.

My defences are fixed.
Battlements shored.

And so starts the war.

Your side has been chosen.
Now know this;
you can never win.