Sunday, 13 September 2015


*Trigger Warning*

My arms are the first thing to go.
On comes the arguing, the digging, the accusations,
On comes the weighing, the fidgeting, the revealing Google searches.
On comes the constant questioning and the contrasted urging.

My chest is the second thing to go.
On comes the shouting, the insults, the lying,
On comes the water-before-weighing, the squatting, the impulsive mental math.
On comes the denial and the hushed presence of panic.

My stomach is the third thing to go.
On comes the screaming, the cutting, the tears,
On comes the hidden weights, the climbing of stairs, the trial of movement.
On comes the acceptance and the brutal of fear.

My legs are the last thing to go.
On comes the begging, the disregard, the commitment,
On comes the layers, the pacing, the burden to wake.
On comes the bottom and another ascent to the top.


(Whilst the person who wrote this wishes to remain anonymous it is copyrighted by the mentalheallthblogger for the protection of this poem.)

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