and a seashell mouth that
I feel at once that I must feed,
Raiding the cupboards I stuff my face,
Stomach filling, self disgrace,
Rush into toilet, lock the door,
Hands and knees now meet cold floor,
Sink tap running to drown out sound,
Will keep my secret, I cant be found,
Head bent over the toilet seat,
Punishment for all Ive had to eat,
Fingers scrape the back of throat,
Abruptly I begin to choke,
Vomit coursing over tongue,
Gasps for breath as head stays hung,
Flush the toilet, wash evidence away,
Back on the scales to check what I weigh,
Wipe the straying tears from my face,
Then close the bathroom door on my secret disgrace.
Here I bestow an official apology for all the things I put you through.
The spirits, substances and so-called foods that you are forced to consume and digest against your will.
For every last hormone-changing pill.
For every time I slide a razor across your tender skin to cut back hair again and again.
For every time I deprive you of sleep when you are already so deprived of energy. And then the days when I refuse to get out of bed and so you miss the sunlight.
I apologise for wanting to hurt you when I'm in need of emotional rehabilitation.
For biting the skin on your fingers when I'm nervous.
For previously feeding you the carcasses of once living beings even when deep down I felt it was wrong to do so.
I'm sorry for putting you in such danger of hearing damage - through all the times I listen to my iPod with the music blaring loudly through my earphones, and the times I spend at the front rows of concerts, the speakers so powerful I can feel the vibrations running thro