It’s imperceptible
A sleight of hand
It’s erosion, the slow
Chipping away from
The ebb and flow of
Those surrounding her.
It’s undeniable: she is
A puppet, a caricature.
She soaked up their
Mannerisms and their
Beliefs and their attitudes
Now she can’t recognize
Herself in the mirror. No,
All she sees are dead eyes
And a rotting flesh. She
Doesn't live here anymore,
Checking out a long time
Ago to usher in worthy
Causes and outstanding
Goals and everything that
Was never her. But she tried
So hard. What a tragedy to
Be left at the edge, wondering
When the hell did it all unravel?
Where was the moment that
Changed everything?
