Gothic Lolita.

Look at you.

That face of yours – ashen, desperate.

Stick-thin spider-body,

Long black hair like tentacles,

Unkempt, twists and tangles,

Like something out of Poe, Lovecraft, a Japanese horror film.

The faded dress you never thought would see the light of day.

Its lace has browned with age,

Crushed collar,

White powder (oh what white powder I see no white powder) on blue velvet,

It’ll take years to iron out those creases.

I bet you wish you’d never got it out,

You saw it hiding under novelty Christmas jumpers,

All jollity, red and green stripes,

Mixed with that unmistakeable scent of English Breakfast.

Memories, dead and buried.

You couldn’t resist – you had to try it on, didn’t you?

Now you’re just a travesty,

Caricature, faded beauty,

I never thought you’d stoop so low.

Look at yourself –

Staring into that antique mirror of yours,

Pointless vanity, empty self-indulgence,

Your youth has overstayed its welcome.

Hello, my wraith-girl of Shibuya,

The one I left behind

all those years ago.

Oh! How I wish I had stayed,

To tell you that I told you so.

Your reflection is fading,

My love.

My God,

You turn to dust

before my very eyes.