I never imagined how easy it would be, how quickly it would happen. I never imagined that in one day my hipbones would emerge once more from the sea of my flesh and my skin would cling tight to my ribs once more, I felt myself weak and light and ascending to ghosthood and I didn’t know if it was a good
thing and so I waited for tomorrow under the stars that whispered to me on the night when I rolled in my wheelchair out into the parking lot and let the cold sink
into
my bones. One doesn’t ever remember what it feels like to become a ghost ghosts don’t remember their bodies. I feel myself wasting. What did they call this once, this wasting illness. Perhaps it is the hysteria that haunts me with every step I take in defiance of my history reaching out to me with ghostly hands and
they are not cold
when you let the ghosts into your heart
they are warm and their touch is gentle against your knuckles. I want to go back there, I want to go back there. Everything is a relapse in this bipolar cycle but ghosts and bruises on hipbones are as quiet as the whisper of a breeze through the gap between
my thighs. I am the delicate sick beautiful girl with falling out hair and endless nights wasting always wasting. i never imagined ho
w quickly I wo
uld bre
ak.
T
he
gh
o
st
s cho
ke
the
s
ol
d
ier
s.
always.
hipbones bruise
and i
…
