A Girl Named Apathy

Her perfect face

Her perfect body

She: sweet kind self

Slowly drains, as you realize

As

The makeup washes off

Reveals the beast beneath

But not in a quick, powerful

Phili storm but

A slow bay mist

Deteriorates the Revlon

Revealing reality

Reminds me of the inverse dichotomy:

When one start a class anew (or job)

The girl next to you is average

By the end of the second week

She is beautiful

The mist acts like a slow motion

Sand blasting machine

Chunks of face, skin, leg, arm

Fling off, and away

She morphs into something

You didn’t sign up for

What served as the sand?

The attitude?

The arguments?

Who knows, who cares

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