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".