There is no marrow in my bones.I have a stomach filled with stones
I am ever in the crosshairs — hovering just outside the small sphere of lightthat shows his trigger happy dance.
I am at once too bigand not big enough
I am both too young and much too oldto be unhappy with the bonesthat form the frame of me —
Farewell to bones that scatter in the windand limbs that bow and teeter on the brink.
Do not eat the sweets it took you hours to prepareand place in pretty lines across a festive tablesoon laid bare.
I am whittled to the marrow of my bonesby a specter sent withinthere to destroyeach tingling tease of hungerand to make me feel…