"Feeling insecure. I don't know what for."

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Pick at my skin.
Bite at my nails.

My cheeks are sore.
My stomach hurts.

I am nauseous.

My wrists afire.
My eyes all blurry.

Skin yellow.
Stomach empty.

I am a rotting corpse.
Heart dissolving.
Brain grey.
Lips chapped.

Snap back.
Look in the mirror.

Right.
Back to business.

Sharpie cold against my skin.

Scissors cut my thighs.

My stomach.
My arms.
My legs.

My reflection fades from sight.

I’m dizzy.

It’s blurry.

It’s black.

It’s gone.

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