Purge

I would never
Could never
Steal your story
And flaunt it as
My own.

Even if you told me
Of the uncontrollable beginning
The desperate need
To control and consume

Even if you told me
Of the heavy, pressing feeling
That replaces the usual
Cold unsatisfied emptiness

Even if you told me
Of the way you can’t enjoy
Feeling full because you know
What you must do next.

Even if you told me
Of the trepidation that comes
With your approach
To that hedonistic altar

Even if you told me
Of the trembling in your legs
As you clench your hand around
Your weapon and kneel

Even if you told me
Of the feeling of plastic
In your mouth, unnatural until
You become accustomed to it

Even if you told me
Of the sound of breaking
From within yourself and how
You cry on the cold tile floor

Even if you told me
Of how something you once enjoyed
Is back to haunt you,
Sharp and burning

Even if you told me
Of how the process seems unending,
As if you could force these convulsions
To last forever

Even if you told me
Of the silence
Punctuated only by
Your ragged, desperate breathing

Even if you told me
Of the way you dispose
Of everything that’s broken,
Both inside and out

Even if you told me
Of the knowledge
You will repeat these actions
No matter the pain or the cost

I promise to love you
Because I share
This story too.