November 17, 2011
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Her messy hair poofed out,
Like a blurry halo,
(That actually might once have been)
Which was tarnished like her fallen harp.
Her wasted hands twitched unbearably,
Remininscing the past and all her mistakes
The memories just came flooding back,
Waiting to make her fall again.
She watched a vortex of spinning dust motes,
That was the way her life was spinning out of control.
And she knew that there was nothing that she could do,
But watch it.
The cracked mirror of her boudoir,
Reflected the way she saw herself.
Her stare glassy, her expression aghast,
Her white dress singed in places,
By the burning tears,
That carved their way down her face,
Her diamonds on the floor.

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