A being of promiscuous essence
found dead yet unrest-less
saying it's the anchors on the edge of my bed
weighing me down at my feet

A body of displeasure
something else tugged her to defeat
her dress presents a sentimental smell when it slugs to the ground
but her depth goes unexplored

Are these even the eyes I've called to mind?
or did you set them on the rest of mankind you come to find?

She holds onto past memories
kissing intensely just to feel something
leaning in harder and crying for affection
that will leave her asking: Why

Why must all the guys pull my thighs yet deny my eyes?
I promise that girl has many things to give
I promise there's more to why she lives