purge

“nice one.

you did it again.

way to go,

fatass.”

i know those words aren’t kind.

and i know i shouldn’t say such things,

especially not to my own self,

but, as they say, the truth hurts.

i stand up,

flush the toilet,

wipe my chin,

then flush the toilet again.

i turn the shower on,

peel off my clothes,

and try my best

not to look in the mirror

as i slip in.

the water burns my skin,

yet

it does not match

the flames in my throat.

the water drowns me,

yet

it does not match

the tears rushing from eyes.

i stay there,

under the boiling water,

for a long while.

every inch of me

is scorched.

i hope the water

is hot enough

to cleanse my soul.

i hope it is hot enough

to fix my brain.

and i hope,

that just maybe,

it is hot enough

to dissolve the fat

that covers every inch of me.

and, while we’re at it,

i hope it is hot enough

to dissolve the rest of me, too.