Poem: She

She withered away in the skin of her shame
and stood as she sat
waving the finger of blame

For the lights dimmed to quickly in her mind
and she cried as she laughed
bathing in her own curse of the blind

She twirled in the wind of her own making
and she killed as she saved
sublimating in a view not-so-breathtaking


© Brent Lienard

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