bones

Bones.

Before I could recognise that

what I was staring at

across the room was the figure of a girl,

all I could see were bones.

The gaunt sockets around her eyes were

dark abysses

into an unknown darkness.

And I tried to look away to avoid

falling into their endless depth but

they followed me

everywhere I faced.

She sat, a sack covering sticks

bound together loosely by string,

a weak drum pumping her with

diminishing life,

she was not there, but elsewhere,

and she did not care.

Exhaustion weighed on her

and she caved in under

The Pressure.

Whispers mourn for the loss

of a once-beautiful mane;

the wisps left behind resemble

those of a new-born child

or a man at the end of his life.

She radiates sorrow through

the exoskeleton of her spine;

but her head is down,

Soul averted from view.

I know she is starving

for life;

hungry

for meaning;

depraved

of purpose;

but indifferent

after years of dying.

When I stand to leave

she stares level with me –

our noses almost touching.

Her lips exhaling a faint breath of ice against mine,

she looks right into my eyes with her abysses,

opens her mouth in a wicked snarl,

and kisses me with the promise of death –     

bleeding the poison into me

and then pulls away.

I quickly turn away from the mirror,

and walk away from the truth.