in the daylight it is camouflaged,
so well masked it is almost an illusion,
a disconsolate hologram diffracting light,
mirroring smiles, avoiding eyes

but at night, it strikes,
an unrelenting ghost attaching itself,
impossible to shake as it closes its wicked hand over hers in predatory ownership,
whispering a solitary word in her ear:

and it eats her alive,
so that she is no skin,
only sharp, brittle little bones,
so hollow the wind makes a song of them

-image via Pixabay


she was so tired of the fighting,
of the gnawing and clawing
at the claustrophobic feeling
in her own skin

and something finally gave way,
exiting in a billowing sigh –
she suddenly saw that the walls penning her in were actually bars,
with spaces between them wide enough to slip through

-image via Pinterest