Existent

"skinny"

And at night the siren's call me,

awaken from my rest 

less nights, as I 

toss and turn,

the scale utters my

worth in exact numerals.

A pound down, 

an inch up-

two hundred and twenty one-

sit ups 

from my death

bed,

towards disdaining light, 

screaming, crying- you're alright

it's all but a picture painted by your minds eye,

but the reflection right in front of me,

is that a lie?

thighs close enough to almost touch,

ribs jolted only when I breathe in too much-

but breathing's tough- 

when oxygen tells your lungs they're not enough.