A familiar ick is upon her, the one that causes her insides to stir
She bears the suffocating weight of knowing there is no cure for the ever mounting dread and reminded of the ghastly ends to which it has commonly led
Oh the pit of nothingness, such a cold abyss
She tries to hold back the little of which still remains within, ever so carefully hidden
A wrath that just roams with no real sense of direction nor inclination of where to go
A bewilderment of life, of the depths fallen
Yes there is certainly something off with this one
She wears a cadaverous expression of neutrality, appearing as if she is unconscious of reality
Dead eyes mindlessly staring advertise a vacancy readily apparent
Devoid of any tells, identifiable emotion or thought
A parasitic sickness has spread to the head causing her brain to rot, annihilating anything formally recognizable as worldly
She feels (of nothing good) will she ever be worthy
Believes she is all around defective (in mind, in body, in spirit)
Full on insensibility near, she is too far gone to fear it
As to not be repulsed, she avoids her own reflection
As to not cause hurt, she stays distant from any connection
Absent is purpose, is will, is substance
Stumbling aimlessly through life, leaving no footprints
No hands to hold, not a thing to latch onto, nothing to do but she her insidious decline through
Like a sacrificial lamb so beaten down it no longer attempts to stand
All banged up and broken from the steadily horrendous descent
What is lost on her is (if anything) what all of this has meant
Oh the pit of nothingness, such a cold abyss
She tries to hold back the little of which still remains within, ever so carefully hidden
In the pit is where it was born, where the monster began to take form
It wears a hideous sneer even the demons seem to fear
It holds her close whispering in her ear "Not to worry, it will all be over soon my Dear"
What a tragedy, what a travesty, call it what you will
A **** shame, all intervention proven nil
Sadly still it won't be long until the monster goes in for the inevitable ****

The disdain with every reluctant glance in the mirror brings me great pain
I have not a clue who that is and don't expect anyone else to
Though more than anything I want to be perceived as myself by you
So worn thin of trying to, accordingly, dress up the mannequin
When the mirror is your greatest enemy, it can be hard to get a grip on your sanity
I once had the most glorious dream where I was torn up at the seams
They took away everything I don't want, everything I don't need, everything never meant to be
For a few moments I was light as a feather
Gently they put me back together
I was then finally whole, my body matching my soul
Elated with a joy never felt before
Oh how splendid to be under that knife
A cure for the despair that has plagued my life
Only to awake still fully intact, a dose of harsh reality comes rushing back
Back to the sad, awful fact that my life is a cruel joke and to the sorrow in which that evokes
Why God? I wish I never awoke
Dysphoria afloat, forever stuck on this boat
Never to be seen for who I truly am
Born to be inevitably ******
Effortlessly made to feel lesser than
Too overbearing I feel trying to get you to understand
Nothing I could ever say, it's no use
Really, what right have anyway?
A disapproval in your eyes, A somber tone in your voice
If this were only a choice, maybe I could silence the ever present internal noise
I can't shake into to you to see that of which pains me so immensely that I can't see as my reflection stares back at me
No matter the pills popped, what's cut up or off, I fear I will never see "me", that I will never feel at home in my body
When the mirror is your greatest enemy, it can be hard to get a grip on your sanity
But no long can I dwell on the defects I see or how I'm perceived
No my soul has grown far too weary and despite my exterior I can no longer allow myself to be made to feel inferior
I have to hold onto hope, the hope that one day I will feel free...free enough to relish in the beauty of just being me

An outlandish performance, an array of misread hints
A somewhat peculiar creation, more so a poorly presented imitation of functioning human sensation
Coming on with insistent repetition, a domineering condition with no sign of remission
Quivering on the edge I relapse in silence
Preoccupied with emotional, neurotic violence
Set aflame, embers and sparks flee from the heart
Past the bright blur are gashes, scars and whip marks
Jaw clenching, teeth grinding, cement sinking, tight binding
Visions flashing, coming and going, voices continuously flowing
Terror pangs up ahead luminously glowing
Bring on my worst fears bouncing between my ears like pecking birds or a loved one's coldly spoken words
I envy brain matter floating in jars
Just the thought, true detachment, tear me apart
This flesh and bone I cannot claim as my own
I relate more to overgrown moss covered stones
I do not have a more efficient way to explain my universe is mostly comprised of trails of gray and me, myself am not much more than deadweight