Untitled

On beauty

"Untitled"
She's living, and that alone is a miracle.
She's safe, but she doesn't dare believe it.
The mirror,
the scale,
her clothes,
"They lie," she whispers.
"I can't be."
Romanticized, these disorders.
Slimmer, better, beautiful!
Oh, beautiful.
Just:
Bleed out,
throw up,
go to bed hungry!
So simple!
"It's worth it."

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed