Shrunken Dreams
A pile of bones sleeps next to me.
A deflated figure of someone I used to know.
I don't think she knows I've noticed her metamorphosis
because she still looks fat in her tired eyes.
I see the dinner she lets sit cold on her plate
and the exercises she submits her weak body to every night,
inculcated into becoming the perfect size.
I've seen her expurgate almost all the fat on her once beautiful body.
I see a lugubrious girl whose bones look as if they will pierce through her thin layer
of pale, lifeless skin.
The size 5 marked on her jeans has shrunk to a child's dimension
And there's nothing
Nothing
That I can do.
Her brain is consumed by a sickness I can't understand and hopefully never will.
She doesn't even look the same.
A shadow of the girl I once understood.
A drawing of a girl I barely recognize,
No longer a person, but an object to be amazed by.
I want to hold her without her bones poking the healthy fat on my own body.
I glance over at the skeleton sleeping next to me.
Not far from collapsing into a heap of depressed teenager.
She works so hard for perfection and gorgeousness
And I try to see her how she sees herself
But all I see is nothing except
Bones.
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