Who?

Oh, and who is she, she who stands in front of me,
The woman with hollow sunken eyes; devoid of all the glee

Oh, that thicket of chestnut hair, that had once cascaded down to her waist,
An ugly ruin of stringy grey waste; that's what it has become.

The skin that had glowed with a sparkly gay charm
Now lies there; lacking all that's need to make the smile warm.

True that she moves as I move, and does as I do,
But the person I see in the mirror is no one I know.