Clinging to the whats left

she hangs in the dim lights

and waits, just waits.

For her next prey of theft

there is no fight becuase right

outside is another innocent face.

Another face,

another bargain, 

another chase,

another trap.

Trap of beautiful soft skin,

and dangerously deep eyes,

beautiful disguise.

She stays late,

into the midnight,

where only the dollars fly,

and pockets full of ones go dry.


a life effortless fustration.

But needed for fortification.

She swings, she swings.

She steals.

She traps.

She collects.

She goes.


Not promiscuous.

A way of life.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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