Poetry

Model of Malady

Blind me to this fate…
where you burn with tears
but none dares escape your eyes….

People are watching…
Many are judging…
So a girl wears a pant of piercing poems…
hoping that time does not bare her waist of scorn for all to mock.

A girl walks, gracefully,
with a broken hip…
and they call her a model….
Yeah, a model indeed…
A model of malady….

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