Lianna Trimble

I am giving you my pound of flesh
Melting supple muscle from slender bones
I am swallowing my words and ridding them of weight

You could call this wasting away
You could call this starving
But my mouth is full of blood
From eating out my heart

I am becoming paperskin and moonbone
My ribs strung with spiderweb hair
Pluck them taught and aching
I would sing your requiem
Sweet and trembling, a violin´s lament
But you would only listen for the silence

You could call this wasting away
If you called this anything at all.