So dance. Dance like the eyesore you've become.
Interpret pity-glares as lustful eyes
And tell everyone you love them.

Everyone around you seeths with hate
Misgivings turned fitfully into anger.
Spinning round and round on toes of lies
Gyrating hopelessly...helplessly.

A mess of broken hearts and heartache too.
Years of immorality seasoned well,
Clever construction of a fortress of lies
Has halted: a sickly pink mess.

You're down and struggling in your web of destruction,
Lost in your maze of expectant self pity,
Honing your talent of attracting attention,
Yet failing to gain some affection.

And failing in spectacular fashion.

The End

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