2. Her Hysteria

A face so creased in a mesh of the after dream,
That urine stained the bed,
It was like an
xxx movie turned inside out.

It was like a monologue, that when spoken sounded like the end of a song.

A night long hatred played for amusement,
Hysteria recorded for the pleasure of men,
The morbid curiosity of roadkill baby-doll.

Her mascara battered face painted lightly in a mesh of bones and tendons.

The End

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