Sitting there one night
I decided to eat everything in sight
I hated myself long before this
So I decided to fill myself literally with shit
It felt good to fuck myself up
And so it became a habit that stuck
A slow painful death was what I deserved
According to the self-talk that I constantly heard
I wondered if I might bring on a heart attack
And that this would be a blessing in fact
No desire to live, hope draining as if in a sieve
I had nothing left to give
So consume I did, to excess, over and over
I became adept at being a self-loather
Hurting myself was better than being hurt by another
As that hurt was too painful from which to recover
