They are the only ones who tempt me. I feel like the only one who hears them.Two fatal voices with thigh gaps and skeletal rib cages. Two who do not leave my side. Two breathy whispers given by beauty standards. From anywhere, I can hear them, but others don’t and label them as mental disorder. Their temptation is constant. They give painful advice inside my mind.They insult left and they insult right and murder every piece of my self esteem and force my meals out acidic mouths and never stop their rampage. This is how they survive.

If one weakens, one strengthens it’s grip, they both scream like gusts in a cave, both with their hands around my waist. Starve, starve, starve they say when I’m hungry. I wither. When I am too frail and too depleted to keep keeping, when I am a grumbling tummy among so many gluttonous mouths, then it is them consoling me. When there is no longer flaws to look at on this body. Two who stay despite perfection. Two who whisper and do not forget to whisper. Two whose only reason is,

to kill me.