Day time, gray time,
Hate myself all day time: This is my Saturday.
The sky cant provide,
here I reside,
the rain will beat
Down while Gods frown
Sees me try and fail: This is my weekend.

Sneaking down the stairs I make
My body the effortless wisp
I do so desire even in my
Pitiful disgraceful shameful hateful
state of my body stuffed beyond full
capacity

Hear my voice before it is muffled with food:
I didn’t want to do this last night
I had sat in bed, awake with fright
I knew it was coming, so I whipped out my phone
And I stared at the prom dress I knew I’d bemoan
When I couldn’t fit in it after five more
Inevitable
Pounds,
Now four weeks to go, my conscience resounds
Its pitiful, and
The pre-guilt trip--it happened
It failed too
I kept awake,
I still making the mistake
I’m sneaking down the stairs

The FOOD
I open the fridge, pizza from
Last nights dinner I had passed on after
Already stuffing myself with ice cream
The coke called
I ate them

The FOOD
I open the cabinet, its there
The cereal I adore so sweet
The comfort of a now injured athlete
It caused failure before,
Its there again
I ate it

The FOOD
Frozen, that being easily remedied
But that’s not what Im looking at
Im looking at the ice cream.
Twelve minutes and ten seconds later
Im not looking at the ice cream.
I ate it

Miserable.
Ive walked out
My pout will stout.
I know what Ive done.
Ive grown even larger.
They say I look fine, better
Than them that’s how they see me now
But its quickened
My obsessions thickened
My thoughts
Theyre always there
FOOD
I hate it.
But that’s my weekend.