~self Depreciation~

Reflection accuses, turns you to stone. Like fine china you stand ready to break, and no one can see except you alone, your painted mask as it begins to flake. So take your punishment, time to atone for food in your stomach equals mistake, and the size on your clothes just doesn't relate; six adds a curve, masquerading as eight. When ribs become rungs in kilos decline and the pole bearers number four not six, will you see all the loved ones at your shrine as they cry for the times they failed to fix, the doubt in eyes as you said "I'm fine," not adding in hope to destructive mix. You lay in your coffin built for a child, succumbed to mirrors; totally beguiled.