Her ashy blonde locks hang long and thin, decorated in knots and flyaways.
Strands of sunrise peak through the curtains, adorning the room in color.
An oversized sweatshirt hangs off of her gaunt shoulder.
She looks so pretty, so understated, so delicate.

She seems ok.

Her hollow cheeks bear leftover makeup, and red eyes burn from witheld tears.
Bumps protrude through her pale skin, even where they shouldn’t.
Her stomach growls and screams for help.
She looks so worn, so alone.

Is she ok?

Her thoughts are distorted with hatred, but only for herself.
Dry lips sting, and long for the touch of sustenance.
Her limbs hang spindly and bruised.
She looks so helpless.

Somebody help her!

The gilded mirror brings life to the room,
reflecting light into every nook.
I turn away from the girl.
She looks like me.

Somebody help me.