A/N: This is all about Dawn and what would have happened if she had an eating disorder. Buffy died and the scoobie gang decided it was best to give Dawn some therapy. Ther therapist told her to start some goals which left her with ana. (The song here is disclaimer to the self by circle takes. It's gorgeous if you like screamo)

IMPORTANT A/N: Please note that in all of my stories, I do not endorse self-destructive behavior. If you are suffering from an eating disorder, self-mutilation or anything else that causes harm to yourself, please seek someone who you trust. It's just easier in the end.

Thank you and please enjoy the story.

She lay in her bed, motionless, because it hurt too much to move. Her bones rubbed against themselves and the friction drove her mad. She could hear the gnawing of the calcium-less bones eat away, tearing each other bit by bit and leaving splinters in her body. The splinters left deposits in her body that she can feel when her she sat down.

The demons swallowed treasures, replaced hymns with evil deeds scribed in chicken scratch compositions in the black halls beneath this filthy city. Laced with shit, this love affair all black hearts, and tragic heights. Keep on listening to our sanguine symphony. We'll keep conducting the color of midnight. When the muse whispers her forked tongue lulls me to sleep.

She was anything but curves and baby fat anymore. They had been replaced with flesh that tightly wound itself over noticeable bones. Hanging out at the Bronze turned into nightly exercise sessions that increased each day. Pizza and ice cream transformed into low fat cottage cheese, diet cola, and water.

It started out as a goal. It's what the therapist said she needed: to form a goal and then reach it. Then she wouldn't feel so useless anymore. It would be as if her life had meaning. So, she decided that five pounds would be an easy enough goal to dream for. And once she reached that glorious day she realized how good it felt to accomplish something. So five pounds became ten and ten became twenty. And before she knew it, her life revolved around those few extra sit-ups and the calories of that Winterfresh gum.

You must be mistaken my darling. This is not the prelude to a kiss, this is obsession, void of aesthetics, lacking compassion, a disclaimer to the self, you sought your god in the tempest of self severed strings hammered out in the key of X.

Now she did not keep track of how much she should lose because she knew she could just tell when she lost enough. Her fingers could still pinch flesh under her ribcage, so she knew she had more to lose. She wouldn't stop until she was thin. Then she'll finally be happy.

It all made perfect sense. Everything but the ugly number of 97 pounds.

This is the new cutting edge. Sixth sense limitations dragging me down. Your transcendence of nothing has fueled the flames of our choir. This is my therapy, singing the praises of razor wire.

So she continued to sink into darkness as hunger was eating away at her stomach. Oh how she wanted nothing more than to get perfect. But being perfect required being thin. How would it look if she was fat? Fat required the lack of self control. And oh how she knew the ways of self control. Her latest fast lasted two weeks. But it was destroyed when she passed out at school and food was stuffed down her throat.

That was her last day of school. Now she just lay in bed and try to stay conscious. It took too much out of her just to go to the bathroom, not like anything came out anyway. So walking up stairs was just unfathomable.

There was a knock at her door, but she barely heard it. She was floating in twilight zone and her eyelids were fluttering back and forth.

"Dawn," came a hushed reply and she knew it was Spike.

She didn't say anything. It was as if the acid that had purged out food ate away her vocal cords.

"I brought you some soup."

And she mimics sleep, though he knows she's awake. But decides it's not worth it and goes back outside.

She looks over at the soup and laughs. How many times will it take him to realize that she wasn't going to eat it? When will he finally catch on?

Embrace the sweet sound of self destruction.

So she stays as still as she possible can and ignores the constant pleas of her stomach. It churns and it begs and is searching for food to feed it. But it won't find any. And she keeps on thinking about her final goal.

No more food until she's happy. And she won't be happy till she's thin.

Wield words like knives and razor wire. A kiss goodbye is a kiss of death. Conducting our ballad with seven broken strings. A sound so sanguine until our ears bleed. Orchestrating until we bleed.

Take in consideration that I do not have an eating disorder, but I was in quite a foul mood the other night. I do not mean to offend in any other way.

I'm in a writers block. : So, I guess I'll update when I'm free.