BFRB by Elizabeth Moore

She’s like Gretel, but it’s not breadcrumbs that fall from her hands. It’s skin. It flakes off like snow; a trail of DNA leading the witch right to her.  She picks and pulls and tears at every little catch of skin. Bloody hands. Scabs crust up, harden, as her fingernails dig, dig, dig. Bloody lips. Who could ever want to kiss her? Lipstick couldn’t even cover the damage. Bloody mouth. The insides of her cheeks are shredded. But no one looks, no one stares. It’s dry skin. Chapped lips. It’s shame and excuses.



Elizabeth graduated from Washburn University in 2020 and now works for the National Association of Trailer Manufacturers.