THINNER
- Dark Poets Club
- Nov 19
- 1 min read
By Rebecca Seymour
The dress won't zip. Again,
Crestfallen, the mirror stares back.
She must be smaller.
She grabs flesh.
Pulls it forward. Pulls it away.
She comes apart in her own hands, just a little.
She lifts her hands to her mouth. A taste, tentative. Then more. Chews, swallows. Diminishing herself.