Blue hair, flesh blue, skin blue
No muscle, no meat
Damaged brain and damaged children
A walking skeleton

This my grandmother tells me
At six-thirty, still in the dark
Her wails pool in black puddles
Pooling under her eyes

One skeleton lives in the closet
Coming at night to whisper in ears
A gentle whisper of matted wire

One skeleton sits at the kitchen table
Partakes of talk but not of food
Black puddles form in its eyes
Black puddles drip from its mouth
Pooling on the table
Where everyone sits

One skeleton walks with me
It leans on my shoulder
And grasps my hand,
A cold hiss comes from a void
On the face where black puddles pool,
Clutching my hand,
Footsteps falling heavily on concrete
Whispering, what will you do?