Little Blue Line.

"You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?"
I stood with one arm against the wall, and the other wrapped around my waist.
I dug my uneven finger nails into the skin over my stomach, pulling it forward and letting
it elasticate back.
I stared at white porcelin and clear water.
It was a familiar picture, but something was missing.
There was no numb feeling in the back of my throat, and both my hands where positioned on
the side of the toilet seat, unaffected by teeth marks.
I had been throwing up unintentionally in the mornings for the past week.
And I hadn’t used my fingers once.

I couldn’t concentrate for the next week.
I had visions of my body inside. My heart missing beats and my lungs opening in and out lazily.
My esophagus trying to pull through another stomach acid trip, and my bones
crumbling from the inside outward.
Another human nestled inside of me with its fingers down its throat, purging on its
food and trying to loose the 8lbs that held it together.
I didn’t care that I didn’t have money to raise a child, or the responsibilities that came with it.
"I’m just worried about the weight gain."
I said it aloud into the snow, and it decomposed with the cigarrette butts and coffee cartons.
I stopped walking for a second and thought back to what I had just said.
A skinless hand crept up my back and rested on the bone sticking out from my shoulder.
"You’re thinking thin."
It was cold outside, but Mia’s breath was freezing.

I sat on the washroom and looked down at the digital hourglass blinking
up at me from the floor.
A little blue line appeared and I let out a sigh of relief.
I would not have to gain one pound.
But I’m still eating for two.