Sep 19


Her world, the color dreams, drags her as if a submissive dog
attatched to an unfirgiving leash
through cities of salt and pepper
through twisting and turning allies stamping names on her cover
not daring to flip through the pages 
through the days and nights of routines
all she knows
plastered with make up to hide the puddles of blue under 
faded eyes
her name means nothing 
unimportant and meaningless, replaced by the another
the names on albums and movies, not in her home
a rainforest of people surrounding her
calling an unknown name 
demanding a new song, a new masterpiece
squeezing the last from the toothpaste tube
sucking the well dry, day after day, year after year
till she is old, a name to search
a frail figure left without a spirit, without her lifeline
routine crumbling into disorder, impeccable beauty into dismay,
and an account of riches, to a wheelbarrow of paperclips
not quenching her thirst for the years she lost 
hiding behind a mask of songs someone else wrote
coming meaningless out of her lips
to spend the rest of her life
maimed by her career, destroyed by false attention
sucking her spirit,
her world once the color of dreams
crumbled like a fallen city
days pass drawing closer to her last, 
and she stumbles on over the memories of corrupted days
spent in the cities of salt and pepper


About the Author: ava
Ava Rohrbaugh
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