Beauty

If not the lackluster complexion, Or rather pallor condition
Then that feigned yellow simper, reeks forthright resistance
And that dark around spoil, more the forthcoming grimace
That to Disfigure, and cripple, and damage the essence
Only perverts, and tortures, and alters thine  message

Such a sight if a lie
would in a mirrors guilt
eye the very deceit
it once held true
then a sight shall be the first
to shed light upon you
Verily a word to amuse
a jest at the very least
nevertheless if such were the case
then to muse for a moment
in your mocking embrace
Then what of beauty
might not the plain
breed less revolting
jolting it`s mild juvenile
state, and unshapely smile
such is not vile?
And what of this feeling
that blankets you
closed in sordid thought
that same glass of reason
or shame, or neglect
trapped in the caramel swirls
of our endless regrets
And what difference
of that string you forget
around your neck
drawing your life
by the very last breath
Lest you choke at the thought
that all that is left
are the sprinkles that sugar
your slight silhouette
that swallows the space
and begins to forget