mis-figured horribly

You say I am beautiful
Underneath I am not, I am rotting,
Falling apart- my bones the ravens
Pick at and laugh at
My shameful ways. I am horrible
Mis-figured, uncountable are my
Misdeeds- I suffer most from broken
Limbs on windy days that blow
my mind into detestable places.
Rarely do I find myself back on course
Only to be devoured by scavengers
I hate- yet love- to entertain.
They are like old friends that become
Enemies, then friend’s again- I reacquaint
Myself- indulge in their snares- I think it preserves, and tastes sweet, but it
Returns with bitter despair.