An Ode to Ana

those days

when my skin was gray

and fragile

and my hair fell out

with each brush

and my eyes sunk

deeper and

deeper

when I was nothing but bones 

so defined

I could count each rib

and I did

again and

again

and I was cold

I was so

cold

but I felt beautiful

because they said

that’s what beauty was

beauty meant

counting heartbeats

as they became slower

and slower

and fighting sleep

because you were never

sure

you’d wake

up

I didn’t fear death

anymore

because

if I died

at least

they would have

a beautiful corpse

to bury

           - please don't let it end like this

@Adin