More funky formatting. I should just stick to ballads and rhymes.
I see your face: Fine age lines, Spidering across the skin, Weathered from the rite of time— Jowls, hanging heavily, Swollen and bloated, A grotesque mockery of a pale peach balloon— Thin lips, From constant pursing, Wrinkled and frowning— Small, beady, black eyes, Set deep in the folds of your eyelids, Like pigs’ eyes, judgmental, dull. My eyes move down, Down your wrinkled neck, Past the neckline that is far too low— I see it then, Dangling from that neck of yours, Between your bulbous breasts— What is it? You keep it on a chain. What is it? You keep it framed. What is it? You keep it close. A cold, black heart. Small and shriveled, Out for the world to see, A perfect representation of Who you are.