A Miror Perhaps?

January 29, 2010
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There are wrinkles in my dress,
my shoes are brown with mud,
my hair's a tangled mess,
my eyes show vanes of blood.

My sweater's slightly torn,
my face is full of dread,
my mind beat down with scorn,
my skin as wan as dead...

My lips are chapped and pale,
my legs soaked to the bone,
my words come out so frail,
my heart is scared and lone.

My arms hang by my side,
my hands have long worn out,
my neck has lost its pride,
my thoughts are lined with doubt.

So fast i stoop so low,
I've lost my sane i see
i can't outrun my foe...
...for the enemy is me!

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