Do they see the black pockets beneath her eyes,
shockingly dark and puffed up with bruised sorrow?
The numbness like a Novocain-hazed cloud
shutting out the light in her once sparkling existence?
Do they notice the jutting bones beneath her flesh,
disturbingly bent and gnarled by starvation’s kiss?
The sunken cheeks like a malnourished bird of prey
searching for its next meal with force of instinct, but shattered appetite?
Do they hear the rasp in her once melodious voice,
unnervingly grating as if a knife were scraping it out?
The harshness like a cluster of squawking pigeons
desiring to be heard amongst the rabble of human existence?
Do they sense the underlying pain cloaked beneath,
frighteningly tangible and yet invisible to the human eye?
The agonizing gaze and harried expressions
quickly surfaced and then hastily hidden in fear of being discovered?
No, I don’t believe they see or notice or hear or sense.
Or maybe they just don’t care as she fades away,
mentally eaten by obscure infections of self-hatred,
painfully rotting from within like the pestilence of Black Death.
Written by Adriana Gonzalez
Cozy Corner 