Fingers lodged down her throat hoping to
push the right button, releasing the bits and
pieces of evil which makes her who she is.
Staring in the porcelain bowl, staring at herself.
Heaving one last breathe of tainted air before
she flushes the evidence away. It’s getting
harder everyday to connect herself with reality.
Living from one moment of kneeling in front
of (her) salvation to the next, trying to play
the game, trying not to show
she’s sick.