She sits down at the table,

Wants to push all the food away,

Maybe garbage it,

Her stomach growls, hungry for more,

But it turns too.

She feels so sick at the prospect of eating,

And she doesn’t even have an issue,

It just pops up, like she needs any more randomness

In her jumbled up, mixed up, screwed up life.

But she deals, she eats and talks and plays okay.

She feels bad afterward, like maybe she should…

Purge, but then she thinks of that one friend,

And she tries to shut those whispers up,

This shit was dangerous, and she didn’t want to do it.

So she makes some Sweet Almond loose-leaf red tea,

Sits in front of the computer screen,

And lets these words flow out, onto the page.

Maybe then she won’t feel it suffocating her.