There’s ritual in what I do,
Obsessive acts that start a new,
Each binging slip to no man’s land,
Catastrophe and shame at hand.

There’s ritual in what I eat,
Each food a sheer delight to meet,
With preparation comes the chase,
To eat until I feel disgrace.

There’s ritual in feelings too,
That all familiar crash to blue,
It’s urgency then great relief,
All followed by a retching grief.

There’s ritual in thoughts en mass,
Complacency and then the crash,
A staunch belief that death may greet,
If I resist the urge to eat.

There’s ritual to binge at night,
Compulsions that I cannot fight,
Dissociation drives the need,
To eat until my soul does bleed.

There’s ritual in aftermath,
A fear of bolting down the path,
That leads to days and weeks on end,
Where food becomes my only friend.

There’s ritual in what I do,
Obsessive acts that wander through,
Then sabotage till I unhinge,
And dive head first into a binge.

© The Complicated Bunny – 20 May 2022