On a cold November morning
She awakens
Her eyes
Sunken and unaware
Of the beauty
That lies ahead

All she sees
Are the fears
The weights,
Dragging
Pulling
Gnawing away
At her frail, fragile bones

She is lost
She is broken
She is gone

Sitting
In a ***** room
Picking up a pen
And trying
Desperate and futile
To take back
What she believes has died

She stops
The naked scars taunting
Watching from her forearms
She grins
In that eternal moment
She is perfection

Her scars smudge
Her flesh smooth
Those vicious weights
Nowhere to be found

She is free
Untouchable
She is the words
That she has written down
She is the future
Which she had feared

She is the reality
**Which she can believe in