The Mirror

The mirror is alive
taking shots in the dark
At the lonely girl
dressed is white, skin is stark

She turns on the light
her reflection screams
tuck an inch, pinch, pinch, pinch
imagining her jeans bursting at the seams

Bones hide… all while she digs
polished claws scratch skin and blood shines
She searches for shadows to hide
And envies magazineĀ model jawlines

Photos, polaroid stacks
Of the ones she wishes to be
Thin, petite, silhouettes of gold
So damn pretty, why can’t that be me




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