I am distorted. Pulled out of shape, Stretched in a hall of mirrors, Two-hundred and eighty glassy bodies, Mismatching mine own. ---
I ache, I tire, It is too much to wash. I leak. A foul milky ooze, I cannot stop up the stench. A thousand times I've scrubbed myself raw to no avail, I stink. ---
I'm mad. I've gone mad. Off my rocker, gone cuckoo, "Put the poor mad woman away! She's not fit for society," Half human, half beast.
I am a bloody mess, Broken, Torn, Slowly deflated - But not defeated. I screamed and screamed, All to hear you squall.