Breakage

July 26, 2011
Born in to beauty,
the world was at her fingertips.
Every wish was granted with ease.
Anxious adolescents hung on her every word;
every syllable expelled from her lips
fell in to their mouths
and nursed their admiration.

Her very stare could melt the frigid pride of any peer;
could leave them awestruck and dreamy-eyed.
Her breath was the sweet elixir of youth
Years carried her with grace and poise
And she shone with glimmering badges and medals.
She was the very image of perfection.

Time passed, and her caramelized words and shallow constitution
grew sour.
Her teeth were filled with cavities.
Her hair:
nothing but knots.
Her once supple complexion
faded to grey.

She sits alone on a barstool.
Remnants of beauty struggle to shine
through the mess left behind.
She fingers the all-too-familiar glass
resting in her puckered hands.
The mirrored table brings tears to her eyes.





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