I am the skeleton in the room, inside the dark black corner. Come stare at me with wide, white eyes and witness my life's horror.
I am lathered in a thing that bubbles with disgust every time I look in mirrors and see all the crust.
My body feels like mildew that's clinging to my flesh. I want to rid my skeleton of all its nasty mess.
But I cannot find it buried beneath my skin. It's something that cannot be held or bound with safety pins.
In bones is where you'll find me, hidden in the marrow, suspended in this hollow place that is far too narrow.
Though I cannot fit into my place among the bleach white bone, I will try and squeeze in anyway so I'll feel less alone.
But I wasn't always pale and poor. I was human long ago, before the cobwebs left my mouth and death molded my dough.
I am the skeleton in the room inside the dark black corner. Come witness what you will be If mirrors become your mourners.