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From A Woman Of No Importance
From A Woman Of No Importance
1 min
377
The only presence she left behind
Was of lipstick stains
On frail pieces of tissue;
So easy to crumple, rip and fade.
Lost in gusts of wind.
The only marks she left in her wake
Were of scraping nails
On backs of spineless men;
So easy to heal, fill and mend.
Lost in folds of flesh.
The only legacy she left as she died
Was dreams of a perfect Wilde
On dingy parchments of journals;
So easy to shred, sever and scatter.
Lost in sands of time.
In every gasp of breath,
She existed.
Never lived,
Never remembered.
