Hunger: A Poetic Journey Through Anorexia Nervosa

There are teeth missing, god knows, some i was born without, teeth that will never grow. There were two wooden boxes for footstools for small dangling feet and, spouting like a flame from the old inkwell hole, a spray of vivid red leaves-matchmates to those jemmy had given me.

Dangling by a ribbon from his left lapel was a monocle -- actually a powerful magnifier.