My hair is clean and brushed and smart.

Hers is drenched and dirty.

I am wearing cosy clothes.

She is bare and purple.

I'm inhaling bluebell air.

She is breathing fire.

I am watching pixellated subjects of denial.

 

I am strong and tall, unbowed.

She is weak and wailing.

I am fifty years of age.

She is but a baby.

I have biscuits on my lips.

She has froth and horror.

I am watching pixellated subjects of atrocity.

 

I have eyes that blur and leak

but I am speaking freely.

She has eyes that cannot see.

She is wheezing frantically.

I am hearing grown men lie.

She is hearing people die.

I am watching pixellated subjects of denial.