She sinks, Zoloft blue and sulking purples

“I just want to feel normal.”

A dawn of pitch midnight, starless and cold

Splintered planks groan underneath

Fresh air catches and turns bitter as she stands

“Thick.” “Ugly.” “Fat.”

Haunting they stoop, waiting

Night vultures on decrepit metal railing

Watching for the glistening tear

“You’ve got such a pretty face.”

A watery downcast gaze into rolls of oblivion

Angry red marks that grew too fast

Pants with threadbare thighs

“You’ll grow out of it.”

Six years, two hundred and thirty

Trying to shrink back like an Arctic wave from the edge

Freezing so that it may swell no more

“Have you lost weight?”

Numbers flashing on a backlit screen

Empty air that shatters into nothing

Choking back a wounded soul

“You’re a good person.”

A warm gentle rain, luminescent and clean

Stomach and thighs forgotten in the gray halls

The vultures flock elsewhere as night falls away

Silently leaving their empowered quarry behind

Is this how it feels

To be blessed and kept?

Found with eyes that gleam of humanity

Their depths strong because of the world

But what then

Of those who are lost?

Simply carried away piece by piece as the scavengers feed

And no one dares to notice.