Quarter past midnight she silently skulks the forsaken streets
Dressed in a jet black trench coat cloaked by horrific flashbacks
Suppressed within a harrowing masquerade of profound sorrows
Daunting tears of shame gently ooze from the roots of her tear ducts
Uncontrollably they trickle down the surface of her somber cheeks
A majestic shadow of fear trails behind her in the swift breeze
Stalking her every breath, her every word her every move
And every quirky little rhythm of her eccentric groove
You see in this woman's eyes love was such a rare concept
Every night she gave away what men thought was true love
Yet in reality their imaginations were running away with the wind
Every word that was said, every emotion that was bled all fake
This kind hearted woman was loved for someone who she wasn't
Around her town she was labeled the queen of the mattresses
But underneath is it really worth sacrificing her integrity?
Is it worth ruining her identity, her dignity, her self esteem?
Tell me where is the sense in selling herself to the dogs?
And giving them permission to violate her rightful privacy
Her cranium had blatantly been rocked too hard against those sheets
And now she has lost herself along with the rest of the harlots
All because she sold her soul to the shaft of Satan's penis
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