Her fingers are only adorned with teeth-marks
And swollen bands like rings
But at she can wear her skinny jeans
And count her ribs

Her eyes are tired and flushed
Her cheeks chalk white and chalk dry
But at least she can feel the knobs of her spine
And slip into the background

Her fingers shine with muddy blood
And her stomach squeezes tight
But at least she knows what is coming
She can die in style