In the hush of dusk, where shadows creep,
A figure stands, in silence, deep,
Skinny limbs, like whispers frail,
Caught in the grip of an endless veil.

A soul adrift in a sea of doubt,
Longing for curves, yearning to sprout,
But the mirror reflects a form so thin,
Where insecurities begin to spin.

Each glance becomes a battle fought,
Against the whispers that can't be caught,
Skin stretched tight, bones on display,
In the search for beauty, a heavy price to pay.

Measured by inches, weighed by the scale,
In the dim of night, where fears prevail,
Lost in the echoes of self-doubt's song,
A fragile heart struggles to belong.

Cloaked in clothes that hang too loose,
Aching for contours, a deeper truce,
Yet every reflection seems to betray,
The longing soul that fades away.

In the labyrinth of mirrors, lost in the maze,
The spirit withers, caught in a daze,
For beauty's definition, a cruel game,
Leaving behind ashes, without a flame.

In the silence of solitude, the struggle persists,
In the fragile frame, where darkness insists,
No happy ending, no silver lining found,
Just the echoes of insecurity's sound.
© Azz_lia