Your years appear, so ironed out
As though, you never, lived thru them
Your splendor seems, a stark sell-out
To the fear of, time’s ugly mayhem!
A shot of venom! All it takes
To resurrect, that girlish lie
A dead façade, however aches
“Whose misery, do I glorify”!
A captive, in a crumbling form
A pilgrim, in a weary soul
Can’t help but, concede, conform
To the fads, of the social hyperbole!
When I dare ask, your stony guise
“How glorious, is your plastic guile?”
“What my heart revels, my soul decries”
Shouts out her plight, Your Botox Smile!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra