The mirror never lies. She’s my only friend, revealing only what my reflection understands Dysmorphia of my body, a twisted trunk of bones. The food has no thought to the dogma I condone.
My gastric acid sets in my gut it boils and stews. Nothing to digest, no absorption to diffuse. My duodenums empty, a vacant anatomic place. The enzymes will expire disappear without a trace.
My clavicle is sharp, a knife that cuts my veins. My ribs protrude out, under the skin, it starts to strain. The image in the glass I no longer recognize. She talks to me through a pair of sunken eyes.