Cruel

I step on the scale, each time praying that the number is lower than the previous weight check

Lower, lower, lower I go

Each night I criticize my body in my head; cruelty is my profession

I grab and pinch at the fat that never seems to leave no matter how small I get

There seems to be no remedy for the sadness that creeps its way in each evening

I envy the girls I see online with waists I could wrap my hands around and thighs as thin as my arms

I know it's sick and I know it's wrong but I can't rid of it, this demon like thing that sits inside of me

I know exactly what it wants- death, but I won't allow it, so instead I suffer

I step on the scale and hear its crazed voice say to me "Not good enough. Never good enough."

I can't figure out how to make it go away without letting it kill me

I wonder if I'll suffer the rest of my life and I don't know that I could even survive without it

I feel my sanity slipping from my grip

Maybe, just maybe, I should let it go.