The Fall

Double zero jeans and a size small shirt.
One look in the mirror, she saw grotesque.
Her insides screaming for food,
Her emotions driving it away.
Tears flowed into the pillow, dampening it.
With shaky hands gripping the blade,
Through and through thinking,
"This is the last time."
She pressed it against her wrist.
No longer velvety and pale, but striped and bumpy--
With years of scars to tell her story.
Before breaking skin for the final time, thinks,
"When have I fallen, and when will I get up?"