Blooming

The explosion of flowers

That I had cultivated, in the sink

Terrain of a foreign planet

I wonder if the people there

Hate their reflections like I do

Magenta

Is too pretty a word

To describe the mixture

Of kool aid and ice cream

And cheerios, that i choked

Out of my closing throat.

But it's not a word

Pretty enough to describe

How clean i finally feel

After i see it before me,

And can feel, empty

Violet

Head hurts and hands

Even more, purple marks

Creased landscape

Of bruises gained

Gripping porcelain

Toilet bowls for too long

Rancor

Walking into the

Cafeteria, repulsive

A battle ground

Where I tell myself

I need nutrients, food

But my stomach

Says I am too sick

Charybdis

Stomach, churning.

What monster lives in me?

Only lunch, the first eaten

In two days. I hope more.

A whirlpool of mistakes

Lead me to this

But the only one I remember

Is the ugly sandwich.

And Scylla

When it becomes too strong

The urge to retch, eject, expel

When the white tiles smelling

Of disinfectant call for me

To fill the room with food

Smells. Piercing my nose

Sliding down my throat

Until it makes me sick again

Keeps me on my knees

Falling against the wall

Cycles

It's only been hours,

And I find myself

In the same white hall

Bustling with people –

Normal people– piling

Food on their plates

And I do the same.

Do even more, beat them

At their own game

Put more than I need

Way more than I want

And shove it down my

Crying throat.