apart from this dying world

i close the door and lock the window:
i lie to them;
i die within,
but my mind imagines
who would find this petite woman
strewn and lifeless,
a pretty wretch
who lived to love
and died convinced she was alone.

o, the persuasion took time;
the isolation waxed and waned;
anorexia, bulimia, nervosa nervosa:
eat and don't,
believe and won't,
won't ask for help, won't let someone care
afterall who was there
when i pushed them all away?
run miles, bike more
obsess yourself to skinny:
hurt, cry quietly.

there is no hope, though i've known it.
i've felt your prescence
even in my pity.
batter my heart, o three-personed god
and tell me why i am;
the world is going to hell
and i am deserve the same as well.
why did you make me pretty
and why did you make me kind?
did you have something precious on your mind?
meant to traverse like a nomad,
loving much and dropping sandbags
until i know, i know
i am ascending in understanding
apart from this dying world,
seeking the countenance of your face.