OFFLINE

Look at this wretch;
The sum of all fears,
The flesh of her cheeks
bedashed with the smears
of her tears,
A salty network of roads
carved into pitted skin,
Eyes that tell of sin;
Wet with regret and raw with
self pity that roars from within.

A head heavy and burdened with thoughts
that have murdered her brain,
That houses a mind that is curdled with pain,
Agony that pulses through jugular veins,
That lumbers on shoulders
that are weaker and older
than their owner can feign.

A back that is troubled
and is sore
and is doubled
with an epoch of carrying the world and its ****,
A heart that is failing that is heavy and wailing
in a racked chest that’s not fit to cradle this war.

And the fat that’s in orbit
engorges the core
as it folds and it rolls in incredible reps,
This flesh in excess
that encumbers this ogress
is a vile and deplorable
horrible mess.

Legs that have walked,
That have staggered and have faltered,
That – could they both talk -
would tell tales of despair,
Of a path none would follow,
Of soul-sucking sorrow,
Of a journey to the depths
of a hellish repair.

Feet that are calloused,
That were hardened with malice
on the road that was travelled by
this haggard Alice
as she tramped through rabbit hole,
Down through the madness,
Through bedlam,
Through hellfire,
And ended up here.

Here where I stare
and I cry with despair,
I reflect this defection,
I regret this reflection,
And shiver and retch
at the sight of the wretch,
Of the me that is here,
That appeared oh so clear,

And it’s clear
that it’s her
that is me
in this mirror.