Ode to what was

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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