After Dinner Dance

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The ballet of a bulimics race to thin

Submitted: March 19, 2012

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Submitted: March 19, 2012

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A A A


What goes up must come down,

What goes down must come up.

 

The burn of acid on my tounge,

Down my throat and scolding my lungs.

 

Is that the sound of your stomach growling?

All I hear is the sound of applauding.

 

Naughty Naughty

Spit. It. Out.

No not yet – When they turn around!

 

Is that all? You can try harder,

Take this pill it makes you smaller!

 

Icy fingers down my throat,

Finally death or another hoax?

 

I’m choking on digesting food but this is the life I’ll always choose.


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