Prompt

Beauty crowds me till I die.
It eats away at me-
Leaving this sunken figure here.
It tells me that I am swollen like the sea.
So I ebb and heed my tides.
Even now,
When I am an afterthought in the mirror;
Beauty says it becomes lost in my curves-
What curves-
The contours of a sickness?
But Beauty will just stare
And breathe its suffocating--------misty warmth on my neck.

Beauty is still crowding me.