Self Portrait

So here is the first draft of my self portrait poem, warts and all.

Untitled, Apart from its name.

My eyes are heavy,
sunken and small.
Receding deeply into
the shadows of
my age.

My face is thin,
with prominent cheek bones
rising like extinct volcanoes
from beneath my
gaunt, tired flesh.

Coarse dehydrated skin
pulled tight by my
minds starvation.

Taut and pale, it
wraps itself around
each protuberance
like vacuum packed plastic

Stretched over mass produced
features.  Dry animal hide
sucked into the curves
and crevices of meandering
bone, while nutrient deprived
cells slowly shrivel and retreat
into the shallow creases
of decomposing muscle.

A full beard sits
half grow on my chin,
ragged and distressed,
it hangs unkempt, billowing
towards the earth
and elongating my face,
adding unlived years
to my haggard complexion.

A nose ring splits
my septum while
shy scars retreat
behind epidermal varnish,
the healing of
old rebellions resembling
imploding singularities.

Proof of my
minds evolution.

An old face half
repaired, a new face
eternally changed.

A death mask soaked
in rivers of tired blood.
while a slow jaundice
infiltrates the sallow
pigments of egg white
eyes, and tributaries of
dark red filter out like
arthritic fingers
from pinprick pupils

culminating in
a sagging expression
resembling
menopausal breasts
pulled down by
Jovian gravity.


the ultimate tiredness of
a damaged philosophy.