Golden goodness glimmers deep inside me,
Radiant mercy, rising, freeing me;
Broken body, blistered, bent and blighted,
Acne-pitted, pocked and poorly lighted;
Wrinkled ridges raking 'cross my visage,
Smile-lines snarling, sagging into scrimmage;
Lazy lids that lurch in listless leaking,
Wandering eye weakly ever seeking;
Oily, ugly, haphazardly hairline,
Greasy, grimy, gnarled in knots that snare mine;
Postured pitched in painful crooked folding,
Spine like splintered scaffolds barely holding;
Ragged ribs that rasp in raw defiance,
Mirror made of me and my compliance.
Feb 15
Feb 15, 2026 at 2:23 PM UTC
I could not hate you,
not after—dittoed, but
'twas ever in the past;
thus and forever will be.
So I instead twist the knife
in my dying heart.
Feb 10
Feb 10, 2026 at 2:49 AM UTC