11:11

Lashes to Ashes.

She sits by the mirror and picks herself apart.
Her hair is too short and her stomach too large.
Her chest is too flat and her eyes are too dull.
She hates her thighs, and the fat that they haul.
The girls on T.V. are the image of beauty.
"Yes, I already ate, truly!"
She goes to the bathroom at lunch to cry.
The toilet always understands her reasons why.
The days become harder as she passes up brunch,
"Oh, that's alright, I had a big lunch!"
Her friends fade away as she stays in Friday nights.
She can't go out until she fits size small tights.
"It's all worth it," she says, as she picks at her skin,
"because someday I know I'll be paper thin."
Months fly by as the scale's number falls down.
She looks in the mirror and stares at her frown.
She's a size extra small; the same as her idols,
so why does she feel so empty and vile?
She layers mascara over red, teary eyes,
frustrated that her joy shrank along with her thighs.
She's lost all her friends, her passions, her soul,
all for this bitter feeling of being shattered, alone.
Her mom will find her tomorrow on the bathroom floor,
blood dripping from her wrists; broken forevermore.
After trading her life for the bright skinny crown,

Lashes to ashes,

we all

       fall

            down.

-M.M.