The little voice is back.

Yesterday it targetted my mouth.
Keeping it closed.
Regretting every object that had the chance to exist within it.

It used my mouth to lie.
About my hunger.
It made my stomach grumble and cry for something, anything.

Today it targetted my throat.
Two fingers down the oesaphagus.
Circles, drawing tiny circles at the base of it.

And then the stomach spasms. Screams.
And the insides are scraped out.
With a polished spatula.

And suddenly whirls of strawberries and vegan chocolate spread
Swirl within the lavender water of the toilet bowl.
And tears, tears they are warm but not falling.

The voice told me stand, to flush.
She told me to wash my hands and carry on.
Like nothing happened.

No one asked me about anything.
It seems as though they don’t notice me.
She’s the only one that does.

But she’s warning me about eating so much.
If I do it again, everything comes out.
My gut will be squeezed until it’s empty.

And yearning for more

Last time, it was not as easy as this time
And next time it will be easier.
Beware, food’s going to kill you, love.

That voice is going to kill you. 


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