There is always pain in her. 
Between her bones and skin;
separate from her blood. 

She has only known 
how to cast everything out
from the dinners she's barely keeping down
to the "are you alright"s and "are you eating properly"s

She is so used to 
never keeping anything for herself 
never holding onto to something she can call her own,
long enough for her to know

how to cherish, how to treasure, how to love. 

She is smothered and mothered and suffocated
by the numbers that rise and fall, push and pull
engulfing overwhelming drowning
all that she is. 

less is more/ less is more/ less is more

The girl's self worth is 
inversely proportional to 
how much of her 
there is in this world. 

That is why she must
refuse refute reject 
until she becomes so much closer to nothing 
until there is none of her left. 

Until she fades out of existence. 
Slowly, quietly but surely-
a decrescendo to her swan song

"The world will end with not a bang, but a whimper"

Instant gratification
for an instance of a girl.