These are my words
She’s must be a fraud. Disconnected to this world
a caricature of a human.
An imposter civilian of society – a living entity to her dismay incapacited to disappear
always chased back in this race -the rush
It’s marathon pace she detests
The First in line to devour the despo’s discarded crusts.
Her washed out hat mirrors
Her bottom lip
Scrutinizing the clouds wafting by.
Human puppets strung up
A reason to carry on the charade?
Compelled by the hypnotic pull pulsating with a love song serenading the humanity of heart.