Bulimia

Her hair flowed like silk through the midnight breeze,

Faint sounds of whispers followed above the trees.

Her skin as pale and delicate as porcelin,

Though her dark, watery eyes showed the sadness within.

Her smile showed a hardship that was in her past,

But it also showed the insecurity she cast.

She was fragile, skinny and weak,

But no one would dare call her bleak.

Too skinny for her height and age,

Seventeen years old and severly underweight.

Her family had all left her for pride,

For in sorrow and in darkness did she hide.

On the day she finally felt happy something in nature's order did not abide,

For that day, her most happiest day, was the day she died.