the taste you can't forget

It's the taste of failure, of whispers no-one else can hear, of an empty packet rustling; of fingers scraping out your throat like it's a bowl of chocolate sauce; of crying and eating yet more salt, it's looking at your hands with no control, it's giving up, wanting something so much and yet being too pathetic, it's the way you sit in that shower for hours just wanting it out, and the way you gag, cough and stop yourself, every time; it's staring at thinspo, crying and stuffing your face; it's helpless, it's useless, it's everything about you that deserves to die but never will.

You tell yourself you're fighting it off, that you're being strong; when really you want nothing more than to stick fingers down your throat and empty out everything you hate, to free yourself, to think of something other than the food in your stomach, wanting it so badly, and being too pathetic. You stare at the photos, and cry, as
You'll never be weightless while you're still this weak