That girl staring back at you, do you know who she is?
With the eyes so sad, and the skin too thin.
Pick up your hand, try to touch her face, caress her hair.
But you can't.
This is no random girl.
This girl is you.
Cracked lips, pal face. When will you speak?
Feel your stomach, the bones filling in between your fingers.
These bones aren't like sand, but your happiness is.
Slipping away in bits and pieces, and you can't catch it.
Your hair's falling out, and your lips have been bitten, like your nails that have been gnawed to the end.
The demons are behind you, and you see no difference between you and them.
They whisper words in your ears, and you look worse than before.
"Come," They say. "We will fix you."
"Pack your bags, we're going down under."
Copyright © Rachel Peysakhova