Anorexia

That pound of flesh may seem less real
if I but keep my pledge,
to cross that line and satisfy
would push me o'er the edge.

But oh so sweet the fantasy
delicious, luscious nectar.
A tantalising dream for free
if only in conjecture.

A gnawing ache is comfort still
with swollen tongue approving.
And scrawny limbs do solace bring
a hated body soothing.

The image seen is yet unreal
a prisoner, but no cell.
These chains that biind are in my head
release me from this hell.