Dying to be Thin

I am hungry.

But when am I not hungry?

Never.

Ana smiles.

I head to the pantry.

If I eat less,

I can eat more.

Or something along that line of thinking.

Ana stops smiling.

But she doesn’t say anything.

I open the door:

Doritos,

Milano’s,

Fritos,

Lay’s,

Pop-Tarts,

My brain can’t seem to comprehend,

All of this food my eyes are seeing.

Saliva floods my mouth,

Stomach acid bubbles in anticipation,

I could eat this whole pantry.

But nothing tastes,

As good as thin feels.

I sigh,

My mind desperately wanting my arms,

To reach and grab,

And stuff and stuff,

All the forbidden treats,

Deep inside my empty stomach,

Until I explode.

Instead,

My arms,

Close the door.

I head to the fridge.

Open the door.

Fridge pickers wear big knickers.

Ana intones,

As I reach for the dinner I didn’t eat last night.

I slam the door shut,

And press my back up against it,

Digging my fingernails into my things,

To keep from moving my arms,

So that I can’t get to the food,

I’m craving so severely.

I can feel Ana’s approval,

As my stomach grumbles louder.

Someone,

Please,

Make her stop.