One, Two, Three

You run into the bathroom and lock the door.
You're disgusted, feel bloated, and now you're sick.
Not from a cold, or the flu, or from anything like that.
You're just sick of eating.
Your eyes become watery and you get on your knees.
You imagine all the perfect girls on magazines or at your school.
You picture yourself with the perfect body, thighs, and waist.
Getting all the guys, making girls jealous, and finally being enough.
And with that, you lean over the toilet,
stick your fingers down your throat, and gag.
One, two, three,
and now I'm perfection.
Or at least, a few steps closer to it.