Social Moth Poem by Maxwell Ames

margaret had two best friends
one was real, the other pretend
no one could hear what the other friend said
so she shoved a microphone into her head

her room's a clutter with stuff and things
silver diamonds and golden strings
ruby scissors, platinum hair, money fed
she's not much in person and she's a battered box in bed

but as sad as she's dressed
her face is beautiful and unimpressed
sitting cross legged on the couch, a look of discontent
the electricity between us could have payed the rent

and when she fell off the couch, her mouth white with froth
she wasn't a social butterfly, but a social moth