ophelia knew exactly what she was doing sometimes my intentions don't agree with my biological urges. it's been too long that i've let my body win. it always gets what it wants. it gets food. shelter. water. sex. waste. so many things. enough. i want to be perfect. tiny white and slim. slender as a reed. delicate and fragile as any flower. white as snow. perfect. have hands like milk paper pouring over long bones. clasping at my cup of tea. clasping the edge of my book. a heavy head upon a tiny body. hello, kitty. my ugly duckling, please come true.

but i mustn't any longer dream about utopia while laying in bed shoving cakes down my throat. i have opted to restrict my diet to the barest bones. i have opted to be fairly open about this, not being ashamed, not to be made to feel ashamed. i will not be. i will be thin, i will be perfect. i will do this on my own terms. and when i am...the world will swallow me whole like a sugared fennel seed.

i'll drink tea. i'll drink water. i'll drink coffee. i'll take vitamin capsules. i may have a fruit or vegetable now and then, a sesame cracker. but that is all. i am so tired of the feeling of being made of lead, this huge heavy creature crawling between heaven and earth. the lighter you are, the less contacts to the fleshly world of ours, the more closed to the world, the more heavenly you are. and not neccessarily in a religious way. just in the way you know you shouldn't like watching dogs rip out the throats of deer...it makes you as awful as them.

i want to be perfect, and it's more than the perfect angelic body i want. but that comes first. cleanse my vessel, then cleanse my self. my body is not my self. my self is seperate, yet inexplicably connected. i want to be completely and utterly pure. i want to get as close as i possibly can to purity. verity. ataraxic nirvana.

is that so wrong? to want to be more than you are or probably should be?

someday i will cough up blood, urinate water, and shit flowers. perfect secular saint. patron saint of nothing.










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