after my mother cooks... we all sit down for a good meal we hold our hands together for prayer and bow our heads in retreat when the glasses are empty and shes finished her plate she quietly excuses herself for a moments wait i stare at my brother from across the room while the radio still pumps the same old tune i know whats shes doing the radio doesnt muffle the sounds ive heard for many years and my knees still start to buckle she washes her hands first and takes a look at her reflection her face sketched with misery and lack of dedication she slowly slides her finger through and vomits out of habit her sublte gags and sound effects are just a part of the package i dont remember the first time or the second or the third i fade them all to one black beginning and pretend i never heard but when shes finished and exits out of her world she never sees from the same eyes her vision temporarily blurred i slowly find my way up the stairs and close my bedroom door so no one hears my nightly routines of pain and sorrow on my floor each tear that seeps through the cracks i hope spreads to my mother so she may learn that whats shes doing is just as painful for her daughter i hate to see her suffering and the saddness she brings along the only time we spend together is when im listening on the other end, listening to the same old song i know the disease it withering her away i can tell by her frail state her teeth corroded into yellow nothings but its her only escape i say a silent prayer before we eat i pray that she wont do it tonight with a tear and hopeful thinking i hope with all my might but when the chair is pushed back into place and she slowly walks down the hall just when i thought god didnt answer he actually made the call instead of walking through the door which held her prisoner for years she stares at it and walks away and looks back as i peer my heart sighs with relief and my cheeks hung out to dry bulimia is no longer part of her life her head is held with pride so when i look in the bathroom i see no trace of the past and that dreadful radio i threw it in the trash*Birth sign: Virgo
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