All of seventeen

Eyes a purple green

Treated like a Queen, she was

On borrowed self esteem





She would do a dance

A painful masquerade

Spinning you into her web

Along her vain parade





In her uniform

Studded brass and steel

Kissing lipstick, napkin stains

And smearing sincerity





Along her vain parade

Along her veins





Time crept up on her

She’s early gray

Her reflection looks concerned

As flowers hit her grave