Ode to what was

November 13, 2007
When beauty subsides, what is left?
All her substance has packed up and left.
Without her hair, her locks of gold
Without her make-up, her shadows and tones
She is left with a shell and picture of the past.
All the while convinced there was something beneath that.
Ode to her vanity
Ode to her brains
Ode to the wishes of a corpse maintained.

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