consumed

spindling spider fingers
pry their way into my mouth
and dance like wispy ballerinas
in my raw esophagus.
they seduce my stomach contents
and lure them up my throat,
colors and tastes and textures and smells
spill out in a rainbow of chunks and acid.
my lips are salted slugs fizzling away.

would you still kiss me
if you knew about my secret love affair
with the faceless woman bulimia?
would you still call me beautiful
if you knew about how i prayed
to my merciless porcelain god
every night while you dreamt
of kissing my collarbone?

sometimes you know i am lying
when you ask about my rosebud cheeks and dripping nose,
and sometimes
she won’t let me look you in the eyes.
and it’s those sometimes when i am so regretful
that she consumed my life.