I sit on this denim couch, curled into the tightest ball I can muster,
Crying silently into the oversized jacket that transforms me into a wraith,
I remain silent.
Silent, so silent,
The fear someone shall wake and find me is paralyzing, yet I cannot move.

As I sit here in the early morning, I ponder at what made me this mess.
What could have possibly taken away the person I once was?
What would be so cruel to only leave a husk in my place?

Slowly, I move.
From the living room that consumes sorrow,
Emerging into the bathing chamber only to be blinded by light.

Here, I stare into red-rimmed eyes,
Cracked and veined with heavy purple bags,
So dark they almost look like bruises.

My skin has lost all colour,
What little it used to have fleeing and leaving only paleness,
My skin is now as white and ashen as heavily burnt charcoal.

The weight I once hated,
The curves and fat that made me scream,
All of it is gone.
Now there is sharp bone underneath baggy clothing,
I cannot tell what I hate most, the plump face or the gaunt one.

Even my hair seems to have lost its colour,
Its soft shine that I once took pride in,
Replaced by a lustless shine that seems to resemble my very soul.

My eyes, a bright green-hazel,
Now they are empty,
Nothing holds itself in them any longer.

I hate you,
I would whisper to the mirror, to myself,

And to my dismay, the mirror always whispers back;
You hate me and yet I love you, so we dance.
You try to destroy me but I will not let you,
I will hang on with every shard inside me,
Keeping you alive even if you do not want to be.

How could you be so cruel?
I would say, hot water curling under my chin as thick as blood.

And still, the mirror croons back:
Because there is yet hope and there is yet life,
You just need to be brave enough to live.