Magic Roundabout La Ronde Ii
She wears curtains in her eyes
Uses them like a surgical knife
Draws them closed each day
To cut and blank out her daily life
And she slides in the needle
That helps her to find
The matching opacity
Of her tortured mind
Her strength and her addiction
That gets her through each day
Of the life she has to lead
To find the money to pay
For the contents of that needle
So you think her eyes are dead
As you pass her on the street
Just two dull orbs in her head
And sometimes you may think
From her dull eyed stare
She’s not in this world but
In her own hell somewhere
And she nightly works the streets
Harassed, ridiculed, abused
And so many occasions
Just paid for and used
And sometimes for a while
Her eyes are opened wide
Until she slips in her needle
And relief pours back inside
And she resumes her life
As an underclass pawn
As those curtains in her eyes
Are closed and tightly drawn
Copyright © Terry Ireland | Year Posted 2023
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