The burning and stinging
is excruciating
just before fresh injections.
But, they’ve chiselled a new face
out of the battle-scarred
‘Picture Of Dorian Grey’
that crawled from the wreckage
and ruin
of three Armada divorces,
which would have slain a woman
with half her constitution,
twice over.
Her soul’s on autopilot
as the medication hums and purrs,
mists and fogs
and the sickness drifts and sways.
She pricks her mind awake,
momentarily,
by counting monthly bank statements
from memory.
Each step away
from that childhood dungaree farm
of hand-me-downs
and ne’er quite enough to go ‘round,
forged her spirits
by trial and error,
hard-earned success,
the thrill of the kill
and the giddying high
of outmanoeuvring defeat.
She now needs a
body to match her ambitions…
it’s practical as well as vanity.
She’s forgotten that it’s the little things
which eventually make up the big
whilst at the very same time
unwittingly augmenting
the emptiness inside
to a size and mass too great to ever deplete.
More at https://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.