In the fragile way she has, she tries:
She shows her weakness, followed with kisses,
But her arm, like her heart, barely misses -
His ego excused a whole train of lies.
She possesses one play, and this she buys.
With blue and white outfit fond in the misses,
She struts down the aisle, hoping it pisses
Her squad members off; she's sealed her demise.
Typically disappointing, his soirees
Left her looking heavenward, and the scars
She knew came later provoke me to say
That maybe what her eyes see is the stars.
Because although he left her, white and whey,
Her eyes still turn upwards, her trite memoirs.
-Chloe Haagen
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