pressed powder perfect
over a skull
not enough to fill her shirt
she doesn't feel hunger
anymore
and even a thimbleful of rice
bloats an intolerant belly
she's what defines
beautiful, wire coat hanger
hollows and hipbones
only the slightest stirring
of atmosphere
in her wake
as she slips through
life
with that
look at me I'm pretty
smirking anorexia
that screams
if you love me
you'd feed me
