on October 21, 2011 by Mitchel Jonas in Poetics, Comments (0)
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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