89 Piano Keys

a lyric poem by Anonymous

 

God, please rid her of awful disposition

as when she saw her reflection on red glass.

I swear her glare could have cracked the depiction

molded by the whispers of strangers who pass.

Their hushed words supplied her with ammunition

and inveigled withering onto lush grass

that forced her into setting the red glass ablaze

to slit through the view of her synthetic gaze.

 

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