Nauseated, she looks up

Freak in the mirror

Staring back

Sickening thoughts come to mind

She ties up her hair

Wipes her stained lips

Vomit is everywhere

But it must all go away

FAT

Thick thighs

Rolls in her stomach

No more digesting

The food must come back up

How else can she look normal?

Like those magazine girls

Perfect figures

Washboard stomachs

It’s her only road to contentment

It is later, much later

Up comes dinner

She is looking in the mirror

Ribs stick out more

Then her deflated breasts

Sunken eyes

Black bags hanging loosely from them

No more fat

No more thickness

Rolls are gone

But where is the joy?