Her body is a wasteland
she swallows headstones and
slices of regret, dreaming
of the day her ribs would be visible
with some starving comfort.
Maybe then, she’d be happy.
The girl- her rotting lungs
breathe swollen air bloated thick
with lies that she sees
now so clearly
through newly-blackened eyes.
Her coal sight is unforgiving and the world is oh, so, so sad.
Fingers too weak to claw back life
she lets her skeleton fall
and hopes her bones will recycle
into a waterless reminder.
The prompt was “recycle“. Poetry Rehab 101.