eat.
they are no longer the shape of themself
they have always been lanky but now they are thin
shrunken shriveled starved
skin (thin and papery like an old person they will never get to be)
and bones (you should never get to see)
there is not enough of them left
but they are still, always themself, enough.
sleep.
they are no longer the shape of themself
they have always been tired but now they are empty
flagging fatigued finished
run (they sat up on their own for the last time today)
ragged (you are watching them fade away)
there is not enough of them left
but they are still, always themself, enough.
breathe.
they are no longer the shape of themself
they have always been quiet, but now they are gone
speechless soundless silent
between one breath (don't think about how few of those we get)
and the next (and the next and the next and the next and the--)
there is not enough of them left
but they are still, always themself, enough.
live.
they are no longer the shape of themself
they have always been brave, but they are not scared
fearful frightened afraid
I am
but
I am also alive
and I remember them and miss them and love them and keep them here in my heart
and maybe
that's enough.