Withering

 Have I got you fooled, or do you really feel you've got this all figured out? You think because we have years, because we had stress, because we shared lunches in the courtyard that I'm who I'm cracked up to be. I'm so thin because I'm held at a breaking point to starve myself. I wear black to feel safe and not stand out, though there's two sides to that razor. I haven't spoken since I learned it's just brutal and humiliating. I don't look, not because I can shoot death rays with my stare, but because I'm scared you'll catch me slipping up.