Aunt Judith,
I feel my bones may not carry me for another winter, 

And i covered all the mirrors in the house,
For fear that the person that stares back
Is but a mere false reflection
On a puddle i step on outside

Because the flesh that is
Sewn onto my once pristine bones;
Is starting to rot and i am left

With a ghost of a girl
And a ghost of the past

Sitting on my shoulder