Foregin is the pink tinted tissue reflected,
strange the hair draping in front of
lost eyes wandering over each explicitly horrendous detail
Cautious as her hands reach up to touch
Gliding them over each obsucrity
clutching at the edges she prys,
but can not will her fingers to grasp
hard enough, claw deep enough
The eyes become incredulous
connecting the blame to each imperfection,
each pour thats not perfect is the reason why she
is forgotten, lost to everyone but herself
each barren abandonment
the hours of tears dripping over fallicious cheeks
running over lips twisted in disgust,
even the tears taste acidic,
burning each taste bud as a reminder
that each horror you beheld, belongs to you
and every inch you despise will never leave you.
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