Consumption

I am sick and I am starving, I am pale and I am dying. I should be bedridden. I wish anyone, anyone at all, would believe me. My bones are showing through my stomach and my skin is nearly translucent, but no one looks at me long enough to notice. I hear 'I love you' a thousand times a day and yet I am still a child dying on my own. Will you carry me out to the garden, to see the sun one last time?