Lies. Lies to her family, discarding of nourishment into the bin of trash. She can't care anymore, her voice is but a whisper, dizziness, blackouts onto the cold floor.

She enjoys it.

It means she is starving correctly.

Water hurts her tiny stomach, its not allowed.

Only emptiness, both physically and mentally.

6 minutes to get to the living room.

3 hours to get dressed and ready.

By the time she is done she has ran a marathon and must crawl back into bed.

There was nothing to get ready for.

The bed hurts her bones.

The Hungry Ghosts are calling her. It is time to exercise.

Fake energy arises from beyond anywhere understandable.

Body check.

How lovely the bones, but they are not enough, must strive for more, more tininess.

You must be better than the others who are playing the game.

Fasting , fast, fast.

Where will this get you? Nowhere, yet somewhere apparently.

The unsubstantial amount she once had never got her anywhere anyway. Perhaps it allowed her to run her life as society labeled she should, going about the daily tasks of a student. But unhappiness consumed her, she couldn't make it for she didn't believe in herself, so why was she bothering with following the rules of what one should be doing at someone her age?

It was fake recovery, sure she looked fine. But that was all metabolic malfunctioning issues. She was by no means consuming even near survival rate.

So why feel and be hungry?

Why not be hungry and numb and thin?

Exactly, that was the answer...starvation.

It won't make anything better, yet it makes everything better.

It makes no sense, it makes all the sense.

Keep painting, this is her soul, and this is her body.