Failing...

85 pounds of flesh hang on the fragile skeleton, who is now not absorbing enough of the mineral that would ground and root her, perhaps afraid of something she can’t see. Perhaps not knowing how to take-in. Slowly, her strength has faded, almost gone. Muscles attack themselves, robbing her of independence and power. Challenging her when she wishes to hold up her head high. To stretch, to see far, to see over, to awaken. And the pulse of passion- debilitated as well, weakened by its organ’s breaks. It is unable to pump with the fierceness required by the harsher world, though it continues to circulate the red fluid needed to just barely keep going. Unsure of how to keep loving. The breath of life more labored, too, reminding the skeleton that living is hard. “I will keep on keeping on,” she says, even though she does not know how to do so, or why.