Bulimia

Holding in the tears,
As I stare into my porcelain sanctuary,
My fingers slide gently into my throat,
This has all become routine to me,

The bathroom door is locked,
So no one will catch this act of shame,
My evil act of redemption,
Fueled by my morbid distain,

The acid starts to burn my throat,
A twisted kind of pleasure,
Relying on the thrill of the purging,
The delight that keeps my life together,

The taste of blood and vomit mix,
Leaving a terrified feeling of disgrace,
I spit out what is left,
To rid myself of this horrid taste,

I struggle to my room,
And allow myself to collapse on the bed,
My shallow heart beats in my chest,
As thoughts of dishonor run through my head,

I have become immune to this feeling,
But disappointment dwells deep inside my heart,
My delight of destroying myself,
Is tearing my life apart.