I think I was pretty once,
A really long time ago–
–time has stretched on since.
It was before I stopped cutting my hair
And grew out straggled ends resemblant of straw,
Vacant, desolate tree branches in winter,
Dead or dying,
Certainly no longer caring.
It was before I stopped smiling,
Lips dried out and permanently pressed
Into a rigid line,
Laugh-lines faded from lack of use,
And dimples that haven’t seen daylight in decades.
It was before the storm clouds
Rolled in over my blue eyes,
And with them demons
That gluttonously gorge themselves
On any ounce of light
That tries to break through,
Dark ravines hanging beneath them
Against skin that’s abandoned all color