Failure, fuck, aren�t we all. Dressed in rags we find ourselves entering the queens ball, but there is no fairy godmother, no little mice turing themselves to horses with white manes, and golden hooves. There definitely is no pumpkin to turn into a carriage, and no white prince dashing and splendid in his white and gold to sweep us off of our feet and dance us into the perfection of oblivion. Yeah we lost the battle. We are mangy and scattered. We stand before the town with broken bones and blackened eyes, and beg for mercy in scratchy whinny voices. This is the sum of our lives.

The bible warned us. Strive to go on to perfection. All your glory is but a pile of rags. It told us that we would never amount to shit but the grace came in the trying. To bad we never listened.

We won�t ever listen. Every moment of our lives of our lives will be filled with regret, adverst, lust, jealousy, because we can always see what we should be, what we could have archived, what we if, just if�.perfection. With each bite I don�t eat one step closer, because I am one more bite gone. When it comes to eating disorders it at some point becomes no longer about the food that you don�t eat but about the things that eat away at you. Burn through it all. I don�t even want to exist anymore. I don�t want to feel anything I don�t want to think. I don�t want to sit before my computer with this desperate need to be heard. I don�t want to fall asleep with this horrid ache to dream that someone loves me. I fight sleep now. I am afraid that I will choose to never wake up. Every night I get less and less. I want to pull a veil down around me. I just want people to stop looking at me, judging and never seeing. (My mother, that bitch, told me I was too sensitive. Well she would have been too if she had had all her skin rubbed off. )

-Adipose, [email protected] http://adipose.diaryland.com

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