Came at you in silence, my back at the wall.
I've seen those nights where you binge and purge.
Those locks on your doors tell me when you're crouched on all fours,
counting tile, losing biles and sleep.
It's just a diet, I've kept it quiet.
Even if you told all my family and friends they'd never believe it.
I think you're right, I can't believe it too.
That it's you, but it's you.
My problems hide in numbers that leave when I gag and heave.
I weighed out every option, that scale's not fit for advice.
Medical language won't ever help to shape this.
If that mind's just as frail as its frame, you know I'd leave it alone.
We can beat genetics,
adoopting new aesthetics,
for beautiful bodies, figures ever-so-slender.
Taking control, oh, what a nice, nice thing.
Besides, my problems hide in numbers that leave when I gag and heave,
and heaving's kind of hard with your hands tied 'round your waist.
Point out the obvious, tell me just how dangerous,
then bundle every fight in an 'it isn't right' and leave it alone.
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