The Aching Path Poem by Heart of Ice Die Die Die

I made myself pule last night.
The sick part?
I liked it,
I wanted to keep doing it.
Again and again and again.
And now that
I know I can,
I'm at constant risk.
I have to startve myself,
make myself ache
or I'll make it all worse.
Far, far worse.
Sweating away every
small ounce of fat.
Starving my body,
making myself strong.
Puking up all that I can
so some of the disgust
will roll away.
So then I can smile.
But I'm going under,
replacing an addiction
for an addiction.
Emoism
Anorexia
Bulimia
It's all the same,
at least, in the end.
Because at the end
of the story
you're going under
no matter which path
you follow.

April-13th-10