3.53pm Sunday 26th April. bathroom.
Her crumpled, pinkie-white fingers delicately curved themselves around the rippled glass door to the shower as she slid it open with a swift flick of the wrist. She settled herself in front of the fogged-up mirror, glistening specks fleeting through the mist as she grabbed a crimped, crème towel from the washed-out tiles, before she scoured the fog away. Wrapping herself up in her arms she began fingering the dimples plastered across her stomach. She trembled, revolted.
6.27pm Tuesday 5th May. toilet.
Her hands and bent knees were buckled to the linoleum, like ice, blotchy blue and yellow. Her head rolled around like a traumatised zombie, her eyelids smudged black, and the whites had seemingly vacated her eyes and were replaced by red strings of vein. She beared cheeks that resemble bruised peaches as she convulsed uncontrollably once more and emptied the little remains of her stomach.
12.35pm Saturday 30th May. bedroom.
She dragged her firm cuticles below her chest, dipping her fingers into the small fleshy gaps in between her defined ribs. She withdrew her gaunt-ashen arms back to reside at her side while slowly raising herself from the bed, lips remaining in a distinct oval shape as the bed made an eerie creak. She stumbled to a rectangular bronze-rimmed mirror and studied herself thoroughly, dropping her tongue down to her curved and cracked lip, then tilted her head to the side curiously, as though trying to fathom her own reflection. She whispered something incoherent to herself, before her knees gave in viciously and she fell to the carpet.
3.30pm Friday 19th June. shower.
She draped herself across the dull tiles, serrated hair slipping across her face, she juddered and brought her hand over her face and disclosed the lustrous blade gleaming in the palm of her hand. She was struggling at the edge of her own sanity. She lifted the blade above her navel, maybe she could bleed out the weight.











Comments
and for the fave. (:
--
for you i'd count the salt under the sea.
i like how you describe things.
bulimia creeps me out..
umm eyeing down to the blackened trees and dried up oceans. this bit doesn't really seem to fit, but that could just be me.
--
i'll take this ink from my arms and write your name in the sky
please don't use my letters to start your fires this time
--
for you i'd count the salt under the sea.
Previous Page123Next Page