Frightened in the sight of my own disgruntled figure

Twisted limbs and ligaments.
Bones visible: one or two segments.
Through the fleshless skin
that strays from my abdomen.

Rotten skin beneath my chin:
"Who is the ugliest?"
I should win. And much of me,
I do agree, would frighten anyone to see.

Once I saw my death, in essence,
in a mirror's last presence.
Trodden down, I clutched the ground
roaring forth a wicked cry.

"Who am I to refute the universe,
when to it I am so perverse?"
No one loves me. No one can,
I would blister instead of tan.

Below my waist the skin is paste,
Above it, decomposed waste.
Bastard form, a human vigor
I am my own grave's final digger.

A role to never meet a single soul
I've banned myself in one last goal
A route from which I'll never wander,
I've thoughts to always ponder.

Someday I hope again to see me.
Have I grown like a tree?
One day, I think will be the day:
A final resolution to end dismay.