She Poem by neil derek singleton

She was cursed by her own vanity And tended to feel tragedy too well She held on To the blue dress she kept in her attic To nights of static Knights in white and fashion to kill She knew herself well With the pretty red bow she tied over her hair And memories of when next to nothing was ill From pills, to thrills, and starting fights And racking up the phone bill For a lover's conversation in the night For the want of him by her side For the promise of photo slides And champagne, and moonlight To taking down a life To talking down your wife When she screams, things will fly And hit the door To the parting of the four For the night that was the beginning Of the ending of what's right And nice and safe, She took her place Against the wall with the others who had Turned away from grace