The extremest of maximalists fall into patterns of reduction, too
Behind embellished, sequined, and ruched multi-color veils
They invisibly curtail themselves to restore natural balances
Gnawing at the pink flesh inside their own mouths
Ripping at wet skin until it resembles tortured gills
Grinding their teeth into a fine, white powder
Sanding them smooth and edgeless, praying they lose their ability to chew
Peeling back dry cuticles, fashioning their hands into fingerless gloves
Each finger uniquely adorned in patterns of dried blood
occasionally rehydrated with nervous sweat
Now with hollowed cheeks, flat teeth and stripped hands
Whittling their nails into unhygienic scalpels
Extracting imperfections from all over the body
Pulverizing each perceived impurity
Leaking pus and pulp from inflamed craters
While haunted by the sheer volume of cells lost
they quietly start to decompose from the inside out
until someone finds us
under heaps of feathers and fabrics
turned into piles of compost