Dark eyes lined with profanities,
she trips down the catwalk,
nowhere no-where near those haloed clouds.
Her heart is bare and beating,
and too real for the likes of her;
porcelain doll, she will have blood on her hands;
In the end, of course, it won't matter
much more than the little white pills
Love over, life over, who gives a fuck?
In the end, they will all forget.