She’s Weeping in a piercing hopeless pain
At smiling, sharp boned anorexics cut-
Ting the air with their razor-edge framework.
A treacle leaking wound smears the dark drain
With slick wickedness as you stretch idly. But
For her crouching apathy she would leave lurk-
Ing for a fleshy existence; without this strain.
As it is she remains here, strut-
Ting like a toxic, bobbing cork.