her hands are cold,
her cheeks are sunken,
her bones are brittle,
she is beautiful, pale, icy, and wrong.
her dark glimmering eyes hold secrets everyone glimpses,
but no one has the courage to ask.
her arms are sticks,
her wrists are twigs,
and her fingers are needles.
shes so thin, your afraid she will brake, at the slightest touch.
her parents don't notice, that nothings consumed,
until its to late.
today, this is the goal.
don't eat, don't speak, don't stop.
she's smart.
you cant see the scars,
and anything visible,
is from the cat.
her ankles are shredded,
her shoulders are scratched,
her hips are black and blue.
shes a vision,
a haunting ghost,
a apparition.
her hope is to escape,
escape this dreadful skin,
a prison to her perfection that she knows is hiding just under the surface, so close,
yet so far away.
she wants to be, needs to be perfect,
it feels like she is always so close,
but its never enough.
she can see it, she is not perfect,
and you know she feels it,
deep in her bones,
at the edge of her mind, the tip of her tongue,
the plume of her lips.
and it drives her crazy,
she knows, deep down, that this is not right.
but she cant help it.
it is not a choice,
this is a need, an addiction,
and she cant stop alone.
whats truly sad,
is that we all see it,
we all know, that when she cry's for help,
when she screams the warning,"i'm fine."
that she is lying.
yet we choose,
we choose,
to believe it.