Desperate Times Poem by Neil Graham Marsden

I hope when your ego is scraping the ceiling
and your mirrors grow tired of that smile,
you will choke on the guilt trip denying you feeling
and drown in seductive style.

May your mascara run at each important moment
could you possibly lose all your hair,
for your looks are now really so unimportant
with your honesty stripped threadbare.

If ever you fall can I please then trip over
the crumpling heap on the floor,
can I tread on your head till the doctor says'dead'
crush your heart in the nearest door.

My darling your mind is a world full of lying
but guess who was fooled in the end,
the one who is best at the art of deceiving
could never have been my friend.