Thin
Too weak
To push myself up from
The cold concrete ground,
I lie like a pile of
Old grey clothes
On the laundry room floor
My skin is stretched tight
Clothes sag around my hips
My throat chokes
On anything that passes my lips.
Long, thin arms
Drape over the pages
Hair falls from my head
As I comb gentle fingers
Through my short curls
I close my eyes, rest my lids
In deepening, dark circled
Shadows.
