She held an aquamarine crayon in between her chubby little fingers Her small hand swallowed it A glow enveloped her cyan eyes, like firecrackers on the Fourth of July She scribbled wildly, with no direction She held a marigold pencil in between her slim fingers- no longer chubby, but she thought they were Her collarbones smiled through her skin, even though she did not But she still doodled, eating her mistakes She held a ballpoint pen in between her brittle bones- they were supposed to be fingers Her ribcage protruded like shelves at the market, however held no food: only pain But she still drew, and devoured the ink She was a starving a