Blue fingers tips and nose.

pale lips,

eyes that are color blind

puffy cheeks with a bruise.

sharp edges for hips

hazy, cloudy mind.

She seems to be having the blues.

It’s as clear as she’ll never be.

Look at her,

Accomplishing so much yet so unhygienic

nor apologetic

she’s got no muse

no reason for being

She’s got nothing left

till her bones fall off themselves

Till she joins the dead

frail arms and legs

a tummy that’s never fed

She’s got the blues alright.

resides mostly in her coffin that is a bed

Hoping she turns into maggot food night by night

Nothing can save her,

it’s not like she wants to be saved