She stood there in a world full of glamour, The art deco nature of her edges Synchronising with the slow movements of sound That slurred her into a haze Of small sips of *** and salt that sat on her lips Like an unwelcome guest. She was out of place, a photograph on a window Pained by being made with the wrong grace Of those before.
She saw herself in the eyes of those around her, Reflections of those parts she kept hidden In a suitcase beneath her bed Ready to leave behind, Desperate to discard The shadows traced by candlelight. And she'd given up on the fight and heaven For the pocket watch she kept in her heart Had a small inscription Forever engraved in time, "Twenty-seven".