Here they come again.
It’s you demons,
Possessing your subconscious,
Controlling all of your actions,
Taking hold of your emotions.

They call you bulimic.
It’s supposed to be an insult,
A tag of shame and disappointment.
But for some twisted reason,
You take pride in it.

And you don’t want to do it,
But you will.

You think of who you’re hurting.
Yourself,
Your family,
Your future.

You’re tearing your world apart.
You’re tearing your family apart.
But you don’t care.

You’ll do anything to get what you want.
And you know what you want.

So you will force you finger down your throat,
And you’ll throw up.

And you’ll be fine with it.
Because it wasn’t you,
It was your Demons.