Every day is a battle.
Every month a war.
The soldiers are food and air,
ordered about by twin demons of self-hate.
They fight over me.
BED
 and Ana, opposites, but the exact same.
They want me unhealthy, they want me unhappy.
 BED  entices me with food and the strength to run.
Ana whispers of my deepest wishes: self-control, beauty, acceptance, confidence.
BED  is losing.
BED destroys my confidence, while
Ana robs me of my strength.
 BED makes me sob because it's 1 AM and for the third time this week, I'm standing in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty plates and a bursting stomach, and I can't stop.
Ana forces me to tears because it's 1 AM, I haven't eaten in three days, and I'm so hungry I can see the world spinning on its axis.
BED preys on my self-control.
Ana preys on my weakness.
The battles intensify.
I've cried so many tears I have none left.
I tear myself in two,
 living by the tape and the scale.
My vision goes dark around the edges,
then I snap and stuff myself--
I hate myself for doing it,
but I. Can't. Stop.
I am nothing but my weight.
I have no control.
They're in charge,
waging their endless war.
The sky is gray, dead as my hopes.