The Cadaver Collection

132

It's midnight and

all the house

is already asleep.

Oh wait,

her bedroom light is on,

the one up at night is me.

I'm up to witness 

the miracle of night:

The miracle that within hours,

I look slimmer to the eye.

After hours of not eating

you can catch every line

I sweat daily for.

And you might receive a text

as proof

that I'm evolving into something more.

My best friend is an app

that tracks the speed

at which I drop the fat on me.

And I couldn't escape

if I wanted to,

I get texts about calories.

I need this goal,

this focus point,

now that I'm supposedly done with rehab.

I figured I'd stop at 132,

changed my mind when I saw my abs.

Even worse is the fact 

that inside I am sick,

now that's all I see.

So the only thing I know how to do

is lose weight so I don't think.

I don't think I have a problem,

at least not yet I should say.

It's fine control

but I sit up at night,

scared to lose it all someday.

So perhaps my problem is

I have no other way to cope.

I sit up at night wondering what I'll do

with saggy skin

and honestly I still don't know.