Her.
Location
Her brown crisp bristled tips spun into the cob of a web
the hounding of the hounds bellow unto the misleading note missing from her head
Algid toes meet her sheets and down below they go
Immersed with her sorrow there's no going home
The unattractive appearance she sees is antithectic of what she truly is
So there, she is sitting alone reading her thoughts again
Her only anticipation left is the longing of her creative hand
Then again her man has left the clan
As outrageous as this is her self-esteem downgraded to the max, as the look of her sight became a blur agony in a trans
Her misconception of this plot poised her to be a liberated women who loves her confusion of her thoughts.