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mother anorexia (story, critique is welcomed)

Posted to Action Poetry




She looked into the mirror. Her face was pale and pasty, deficient, yet defined. Her throat and shoulders were lacking in substance, holding only skin and bones. She looked down at her stomach and felt strong, courageous, and proud. She looked back up into the mirror and closed her eyes halfway. She was running on euphoria.

She tried to smile, but didnÂ’t have the energy.

She ran her thin, cold, bony fingers through her thinning hair. She turned to examine herself in the mirror from a side view. She felt so streamlined, so clean, so graceful. She was high.

She then walked out of her upstairs bathroom, and floated down the stairs to her kitchen. She felt fearless and white, empty and satisfied. Her mind had joined the battle with the cold, empty plate on her kitchen table. There was nothing in her, nothing to power her, nothing to help her live. Life was a void – she existed, but barely. Her arms were delicate and fragile, and her legs were thin and dainty.

Her heart was fighting with her. With each struggled beat, it knew it was losing the battle. She breathlessly walked to the table and saw the plate sitting on the table. It should have been warm and filled – maybe a nice meal with chicken and mashed potatoes and green beans. But no, dinner was a void – it existed, but barely. She popped half a baby carrot into her mouth, and grabbed the plate to put it back into the cupboard. It didn’t feel cold to her, in fact, it felt a bit warm. Her hands were colder than the plate itself. It was clean and white, and her knuckles changed to match the color.

She felt a tightness in her chest. Her heart started beating rapidly and violently in strange patterns as she gasped for breath. Her eyes rolled back into her head, with a strange force (or lack thereof) sending her streamlined body floating in slow motion downward. The plate slipped out of her hand and smashed into a thousand pieces on the tile floor. She fell onto the glass, her cold limbs hitting the cold floor. Her head hit the floor sideways, and her defined cheeks, throat, and chin were embedded into the glass shards. Her perfect white face was becoming stained with blood.

Her heart could do no more, and failed to save the young streamlined princess. It wasnÂ’t strong, courageous and proud like she was. Now, only the whites of her eyes could be seen. Her euphoria was leaving her body along with her blood. The joy and high she got from resisting food and resisting temptation and feeling tight in her tummy was leaking from her beautiful thin dead body. SheÂ’d been running on the speed of life, but life was no longer there for her. Her skin and bones lay on that cold floor, her lifestyle meeting her destiny, and Mother Anorexia meeting her with evil laughter.