The Body Fights Back

Sitting with my illness,
Sitting with my younger self,
Blaming her infected mind,
Right foot, left foot, 160
Right foot, left foot, 108 and a vow to herself,
To never expand,
To only shrink,
Melt into a plastic wrapped cage like hot honey,
Let them watch you,
But never touch,
Let them savor you,
But never feast,
Become something to thirst for,
But let their dry throats quiver.

And now, I sit with this depraved illness,
Left foot, right foot, 120,
Left foot, right foot 113 and a fear that is nauseating me,
Eating at me,
Oh, isn't it ironic!
Food has become the aggressor,
The body fights back,
Doesn't it always?
Tearing through the plastic,
Bones cracked but determined,
Muscle wasting,
Ligaments stretched past their limits,
Oh, isn't it ironic!
My body has taken the goal to shrink,
And is shrinking itself,
Piece by piece,
Organ by organ,
Cell by cell,
Eventually melting it's skin to liquid,
Poured out on hot stone,
Evaporating into the atmosphere.