Sitting in a pile of black and white lace
Covered with the scent of sweet summer haze
To her imagination, she gives chase
With a plastic smile plastered on her face
A residue of a fire once ablaze

Once porcelain white skin now caked in grime
Evidence of abuse from passing time
A past beloved item of bedtime
Melodies of yesterday, treasured rhymes
Being this forgotten should be a crime

Nonexistent voice now sounds so raspy
For silent nights are always most nasty
"No one wants to stay by your side, lassie."
A pool of mythic tears so icy
Must be why her eyes appear so glassy

Thousands of days, she sits in harsh darkness
Waiting for spectators, a failed actress
Her shattered heart lying in the ashes
The flame of hope now doused in hopelessness
Until one day arrives a pure goddess