I can't remember the last time I ate, so I laugh. It's just one of my
attempts at godliness. Or maybe not. I can't stand the fucking food. It's sickening, everything is sickening.
I'm sickening. And I stare with blank eyes at nothing. It's so hard to focus, but what's there to look at when you're alone?
I feel my body reeling, refusing it. I don't believe in
male anorexia. The emaciated arms,
tired mind, endless lethargy, they mean nothing.
My despair grows
all the more extreme. But I love it when I waste away.
I love it when I can kill me softly, slowly, gradually. I can't see the end, and the world is
disgusting.
Know that it can happen to you.
It happened to me.