This perfection
at my finger tips ebbing closer and closer
circling satellite numbers inside my head
55, 47,42,38, 35,29, 28, 24, 20, smaller, smaller, smaller
This is all that matters

Brittle bones
accentuated hip bones
bruises smatter over transparent skin
like a painters next painting that found a home in the dumpster full of could haves

Flat stomach
Ya, celery is my favorite food...
and I can't seem to get out of bed

Sunken eyes,
but I don't do drugs

Perfection is so close
Numbers
Smaller and smaller
Flatter and flatter

I left behind the person I used to be
She is waiting on the other side
with open arms