‘She’s but a waste,’ some might say,
The antiquated demons perched
Atop her ***** shoulder,
howl those words effortlessly.
Oh, how they mock her; a doomed admonition-
A pitiful, wretched villain
Incapable of standing still.

‘She’ll rob you blind,’ they might whisper,
From the highest peak of their
pedestals and podiums,
Scrutinizing her wiggles and writhes, ruthlessly.
Oh, how they taunt her; a mirrored representation of ego-
A reputed captivation ******, sober but for now
Idly biding her time

‘She’s insane!’ they’ll declare,
Lounging in their Queen Annes,
Finalizing her score, most offensively.
Oh, how they wallop her; casting pebbles from their pristine form-
Upon the ribbed web of her spiritual coop
Faust, lying in wait.

‘aha!’ they’ll proclaim
From the rusted thrones of purity
Tallying her blunders to the nth.
How they scream through bitten tongue
Into that, what is left of her vitality
Cascading into degradation
Feeding her indignation
Gripping her last temptation