The Debutante

January 11, 2012

Deep dark well,

Can you lead me down to hell?

Can you cast me far from sunlight in this hollow shell?

 

Deep dark well,

Why are you stones so wet and slimy?

If I slip out of this luminescent dress will you oblige me?

 

Deep dark well,

I hear my mother lightly calling.

Does she sense I'd soon be falling toward a life "sick" and "appalling"?

 

What's that pungent smell?

Has the toll bell rung already?

Now I see my hands are steady and my shiny dress is laying on this damp and darkened floor.

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January 11, 2012

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© 2020  Art and Poetry by Moonie Garcia.  All rights reserved.

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