The goddess wakes,
with purple nails and brittle scales.
She stands,
Knobbly knees like hairy trees outstretched against their seams.
Her steps veer,
Joint’s scream while needs poison her bloodstream.
Her reflection gleams,
There’s something vile about her denial.
She sees,
through a screen but the fog won’t clear.
Blind to her sunken cheeks and pale lips,
to the knives jutting from her back,
that leave bruises like inkblot fiends.
She doesn’t mind,
The constant shakes and extreme regimes.
She smiles,
Don’t worry it’s just a lifestyle.