Bag of Bones

a poem from my most recent project: My Dream, the Illusion.

[bag of bones]

Already, that skirt from Freshman year,
falls to my ankles,
due to my lack of hips.
I miss you.
and these greens don’t satisfy
my tastebuds.
but nothing else will stay down.
I run, I lift, I run some more
but my eyes are still tired
from the salty tears and
let me tell you:
they are endless.

only a bag of bones,
I crash to my mattress
on the crumb-infested carpet
only to toss and turn
over thoughts of you.