Every day inside she dies,

A little piece of her at a time.

She is a collage.

A mess of pieces that do not belong.

A jumble of parts that do not fit.

In the mirror when she looks

For the reflection on the other side,

There is nothing

It is as if a black hole has opened in her chest

Swallowing emotions

Swallowing everything that crosses the path

Of her black hole heart.