Flower

All of seventeen Eyes a purple green Treated like a Queen, she was On borrowed self esteem

She would do a dance A painful masquerade Spinning you into her web Along her vain parade

In her uniform Studded brass and steel Kissing napkin, lipstick stains And smearing sincerity

Along her vain parade Along her veins

Time crept up on her She's an early grey Her reflection looks concerned As flowers hit her grave