she moved with a purpose, working with the wind, bending it to her whim
she was a chime swaying on the porch of a house long since left to rot
she resided in a girl, not made of bones, but constructed of sweet lies and overindulgence
like an arachnid, her spindly legs carried her to places she longed to be, but did not belong,
on false promises and a fleeting invitation, she infiltrated
fabrication laced with acid seeped into the soil
she rendered the ground infertile, she left it useless
a tornado of pestilence and plague, she left as soon as she had so brazenly introduced herself
yet the damage would remain like a brackish taste on the tongue
a painful reminder of who you could never possibly be