They’d Rather Be Ghosts

A Poem About Anorexia

Photo Cred — Aimee Vogelsang @ Unsplash

The disease isn’t just being skinny, you know.

It’s an emotional tourniquet squeezing the esophagus shut.

An addict shooting up the heroin of negative space.

24 hours gone, hollowness creeps slowly through veins.

Emptying bones.