So she wasn't the same any more.
Hadn't been for years.
Always changing and hiding.
What else was she supposed to do?
He grabbed her hand,
nothing new right?
But this time it was life on the other side.
Her hair was her pride,
longer then the legs on a model
and strung out like the walk,
or the panel of my peers.
It should have never happened friend.
It should never have come to the decisions
made by the weak bastards of the spoken word.
Should she stop?
Should she catch her breath?
Is adventure finally at an end?
The model visage will never tell.
perhaps she will never be satisfied
and she will never settle again.
What of her pride,
the hair worn in locks and braids, shorn and on the dirty floor?
Forgotten and stepped on.
Like the road and the grass
of days that should have never been
and never will be again.