Bulimia - Part 2

Part one: Electricity

Can you remember how excited he was to see
your picture arrive on his brand-new computer machine?
Can you remember how he edited your flaws away?
You fought so hard, with blood staining your tawny flesh -
oh my, what a mess! But your skin is tinted white, with
bright eyes full of life – a beauty made from the mess of
crimson skin and acid and porcelain. With red eyes, I see your name
appear on my instant-messenger screen. Are you hungry?
Are you absurd? It's going to rain on your face and your
plain, plastic skin will repel the water and contain your
plastic soul. The sun will shine on your thinning hair,
the daylight kills the computer screen and we don't
know what to wear. You fought so hard, with the
principles of feminism in your brain, you're such a mess!
I start a conversation on my keyboard, with emotional
words and emoticons. But your mouth fills with bile
when you see my name appear on your instant messenger
account. But I never wanted to see you change, I
don't want to see your new face or how the contours
of your arms caress the indents of my body. You
fought so hard but your life is in the way; I step away,
I let suicide claim your broken identity.

Part two: Death
It's hard to walk around the greenery - with lawns
well-maintained and with marble polished - the dead
can rest in peace. It's hard to find the gravestone
I designed; our instant-messenger names remain
the same, but I somehow lost a friend along the way.

It's hard to see the lady you’ve become – with a ribcage
protruding and teeth half-rotten away. It's hard to
find empathy with my ribcage rotting away, legs
and arms in a state of decay. Well I hope you
don't lose a friend along the way.