A smug fascination with sub classification has left her alone in a parallel realm right above desolation

She walks alone and mumbles to her self
Trips, stumbles onto a past life she had placed on a shelf

Spending most of life slumbered
Lending her soul to demons, this widowed wife became out numbered

Every day she would watch the orange sun drown in the ocean just off the coast
Used to love all her friends, they would get together after accomplishments, boast, brag, and toast
But, being all alone was when she felt alive the most

Persistence has lent an idea of where she would spend her remaining days
Her existence was spent on the hunt for a precise place

An illiterate hypocrite under the spell of a hypnotist searching for something that doesn't exist
Now an illegitimate exhibitionist only wanting another hit,
Don't ask for truth cause it's something she'll never admit

-J.A.M