[Hope this is my last post. goodbye.]
Undid her fluffed up faith...
Stepped warily into a bubbly crate...
Red comets on her skinny pale,
Sobbing helps flush the bare trail...
Whatever now that's been said,
The rare stoic visits to her head...
Words cannot really make us feel,
What it's like to be,
Running on a futile wheel...
Rummaged about for the forbidden fruit,
When gravity draped her wet and nude...
Bereft of any tangible fins,
Hung on to the worth of no loss or win...
But wherever she may have been led,
Nothing's any better when you're dead...
This world can just pretend to feel,
What it's like to be,
Running on a futile wheel....
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