NaPoWriMo 16: These Aren't Lies

I have a creased and wrinkled face.
And long-lashed silver eyes that blink from beneath heavy lids.
Sculpted hands and sculpted nose complete my bent figure.
My mouth is twisted into a grim sneer.
Legs, once agile, are now atrophied and speckled.
Sparse, grey hair frames my dotted face.
Feet with gnarled toes peek out of my shoes.
Laughter is rarely upon my tongue.
My heart is cold as stone.
The mouth that once spoke, is silent.

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