breaking at the britches...

...to make this youthful body
do as its told,

to bend the soul 'round my finger
like pink bubble gum.

cause we are at the end,
and the edge is beneath my toes.

yelling, screaming out
clutching the throat
that expels all reverberating
meaning.

thin arms, bony fingers
clutch at the disappearing air

the stamping of my feet
beat the loudest protest
against the anorexic loss of
assurance

if only the mind can keep the rhythm
forward, forward, forward.