Mirror, mirror, on the wall (day 21)

I look at you and loathe the sight
good lord, I say, that can’t be right
the lines look wrong, I whisper, gagging
everything’s loose, look at that sagging

Everyone knows it takes dark magic
to smite the pure and leave the tragic
to make craters out of something fresh
to take the bones and leave the flesh

I cannot bear, or bare, to glance
but I must take another chance
before I go, to seek the truth
is there spinach on my tooth?

What do you think?

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