The War On Self-Control

I feel like doing it.
I can't let myself.
I will fall.
Deep into a hole,
a black hole of self-loathing.
Can't let myself fall.
Don't let her do it, Ana.
Keep her from pushing it,
The self-destruct button.
Anything but.
Anything but.
Anything but,
THAT.
It is the enemy.
Keep her on our side of the line.
No enemy lines to be crossed,
Today.
No,
Not today.
Down in the trenches,
She fights,
Kicking.
Screaming.
Shooting words of useless pain,
onto a bulletproof self.
Wounds,
Open,
Gaping,
Hungry.
Antibiotics, would help.
But at this stage of the game,
It's too late.
The war has been waged,
And it rages on.

I WANT

It
More than anything.
Its probably unhealthy
How much I want
It.

It
Consumes me
Takes up all my time
All my energy
Thoughts, life revolves around
It

It
Doesn't sleep.
In my dreams
Doesn't leave me peace when I wake
Can't get a breath without
It

It
Wants to be my addiction
Already is
Other girls don't do this
Other girls don't, no.
This can't be normal, can
It?

B & P

Front door clicks shut,
Silence settles.
Wait a bit
They're gone for sure.
Fling open the bedroom door
Down the hall
To the kitchenette.
Only a few feet away.
Lucky.
Unfamiliar findings.
Scour the fridge.
Ransack the cabinets.
Nothing in particular
Just looking
But then
Grabbing
More and more
What? No! Why?
STOP
Can't,
She's doing it for me
I barely know who's in control
Anymore
Are these hands my own?
Who's feeding who?
Turn on the TV
Distracting myself from the compulsivity
From the behaviour
before I think twice about what I'm doing
What she's making me
do
But for a second,
Mmm.
Haven't ate
Haven't tasted
Its been so long
So good
So filling
So full
Stomach expanding
Exploding
Size of a football
My stomach pounds
It has a heartbeat
Her heartbeat
My heartbeat
Can't tell anymore
Blood
Rushing to my stomach
Rushing to digest.
Digest
All of it
No
No
No
Not If I can help it.
Not If she can help it
Rush
Quickly now
Down the hall
Leave the TV on
No time.
Fan, on.
Tap, on.
Seat, up.
Familiar face of the U-bend.
Heaving.
Heaving.
She plays games.
Fiddlesticks on the back of my throat.
She uses my fingers.
Heaving.
Heaving.
Heaving.
Watering eyes now.
Running mascara.
Ill have to fix that.
My eyes hurt.
Popping from their sockets
With each push.
Heaving
Heaving
Heaving.
Success.
Relief.
She won.
But exhaustion overcomes me.
I tell her, I don't want to play.
Nonsense, she says.
You don't have a choice.
I own you.
Stop. I say.
Flush.
Stand.
The mirror reflects a pained expression.
My own.
Thanks to her
Doublecheck
Flush again.
Makeup, check.
Mouthwash, check.
Perfume, check.
Step out and go back to my room.
Front door clicks.
They're back.
"Hey the TV is on!"
You missed the show.