Your stomach lining’s burning
As the pages keep on turning
In your book of self-destruct.
The never ending cycle
Twists and turns
Whilst you stifle your screams aimed at your ego.
You are your only foe for the world still adores
Every inch of your perfection.
What a shame that the reflection you see is so distorted.
It has been reported that
You so elegantly purge, with those graceful fingers
To feel the surge of power you wish you possessed.
Those same fingers touched the ebony keys,
So very lightly, as though not touching them at all;
You would play such haunting melodies that lulled us to sleep.
Now those fingers slowly creep down you swan-like neck,
Not allowing even a speck of nutrition to enter your gut.
The bile arising seems to cut at your tender mouth,
As your hurt and pain comes flooding out,
And once again you are cleansed.