For She.

She'll light it all on fire, and she'll take her vast chance,
She's standing in the kitchen,
with a slight sloped stance.

So she tells her story of a past, so call it.
Before the trauma,
Before the normality's of an everyday life were set in stone.
Before she was, “going down the wrong path.”

She'll speak her words and say them slow,
“A poser for my own eyes you see, this isn't a threat, but what is the point to reality?”
For she's lost and never had a mother,
Or a father,
Or a brother to question otherwise.

Never to live up to whore she was meant to be,
Her dreams shattered,
With no hope for a new tomorrow.
Nothing.

As if she's lost in that fourth dimenshion,
She acts as normal as can be.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention,
This'll be her last plea.

Her song plays as always but she can't forgive.
As if this was a story of a broken book,
A page turner?
Just take a look.

The words faded just like her memories,
Her childhood alliance abandoned by a big brother unknown.
The more born,
With some bloody stitches left to be sewn.

With friends of the best,
She faces the world.
Shoulders cocked,
And her toes curled.

A heart of ecstacy,
And a handful of gold,
She's on the telephone with her best friend,
Who will expire ten fold.

For she could care less about her pets,
Her future, and a fast bend,
She's too caught up in this moment for this moment to be the end.

For she is not a poet,
She is not a liar,
For she,
She is just me.