Hollowed out and empty;
Like a tree she stands her ground.
Holding onto nothing;
Losing every pound.
Binging on opinions
And thoughts that fill her head.
The graveyard is her playground.
She’s waiting to drop dead.
Alabaster hands
Shaking in the cold.
Holding onto every lie
That her ears are told.
Sitting in the kitchen
To show she can resist.
Counting every calorie
Writing up a list.
Hoping that the mirror
Won’t recognize the girl
With cobwebs in her stomach
Bending over to hurl.
The perfect pink of nothing
Growling in its lair.
Craving for food to touch her lips
But only living on air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice piece, i like the concept.