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Lost...
Hair swept in a bun
Face wiped clear,
She hands out food
A faithful volunteer.
She sits at dinner
A cross hanging from her neck
And talks of family, of future,
Her tongue kept in check.
But when she dances late at night,
With the bass blaring loud
She screams and pops the pills
Alone amongst the crowd.
And she pulls on her cigarette
Surrounded by the flies
Hovering, waiting
To take over once she dies.
Because queen bees don’t last long,
No matter their prestige
The others are too hungry
She is claimed by her disease
Of wanting to be happy
Of wanting to be known
She drowns herself in people
So as to never be alone
She paints her perfect picture
Blue eyed, wild, noticeably tall
But
I wonder
If I’m seeing her at all.
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