I remember when
I was little and
she took my hand
and said
"spin, baby.
You're my princess."
I remember how
we would dance
and look stupid
but we wouldn't care
because we were
having fun.
I remember how
she would scold brother
for abusing me,
how she would save me
and hold me
until I fell
asleep.
I remember when
she was my
mommy.
But now she's a
walking skeleton,
a human with flesh
stretched over
her fragile
bones.
She lost ten pounds,
then twenty,
then forty,
then sixty,
now seventy pounds
have gone by
in three
measly
months.
I'm becoming
her spitting image,
a skeleton with
flesh stretched over
my fragile
bones.
I lost ten pounds,
then twenty,
then thirty,
now forty pounds have gone.
See, my mommy and I,
we're wasting away together.