The mirror never lies.
It’s her only friend,
revealing only what
her reflection understands

Dysmorphia of her body,
a twisted trunk of bones.
The food has no thought
to the dogma she condones.

Her gastric acid sets
in her gut it boils and stews.
Nothing to digest,
no absorption to diffuse.

Her duodenums empty,
a vacant anatomic place.
The enzymes will expire
disappear without a trace.

Her clavicle is sharp,
a knife that cuts her veins.
The ribs protrude out,
under the skin, it starts to strain.

The image in the glass
She doesn’t recognize,
She talks to her through
a pair of sunken eyes.