I am Don

and this too shall pass

Her

Sunny days remain to rein the essence of her pain,

In shame she cries, this dame whose lies,

Have destroyed her very being.

 

Seeing meaning in merely cleaning,

Until everything is simply gleaming;

For just a moment to stop the screaming.

I try instead to clear my head, like Bryan said:

‘She’s got more issues then time magazine.’

Cause a scene and split unseen.

A misdemeanor; sometimes meaner.

Has anyone seen her lately?

Stately home in Rome, dainty portable phone,

Had she known she would never be alone,

She would never have opted to be famous.

Shameless pity, sitting pretty on a cushion of false sympathy,

Lost without serenity,

Her ‘inner me’ screaming please, “You’ve got to let me out!”

Doubt, it seems, has infested her dreams.

Shouts and screams her only means of getting what she needs:

Peace and Money.