Standing in the front of the mirror, I hear someone murmur,

"The problem with bones

is that they are hidden beneath all my fat."

The real problem with bones

is that they have become symbols.

Bones and shadows and light 

between your thighs

corresponding with the way people think.

They skip a meal

or two

or five.

It's a race.

How long does it take before being skinny,

before bones that no one knows the names of poke through skin.

Before the person feels skinny and collapses in ecstasy.

Reality check, heart attack.

The problem with bones 

is that too many people try to eat away their skin and muscle and fat

to find them.

The problem with bones 

is that they aren't a problem, just a toxic symptom and I wish

I could rattle bones until everyone lost interest and chose to live.

To escape the brittle trap the idea of bones forms.

I guess really,

The problem isn't bones, 

just that I can't help those searching down the wrong alleys for them.