She looks to the highway
then turns around to face the play house
The ghost of the unwed bride has claimed it
skeleton like and screaming eternally
dressed in dark clothes she opens the glass door and exits the main house
Normality and sobriety in each step toward the pond
soft words fall on her curated for her ears alone
That wedding day expected to come some day
The road of life a serpent
a reptillian spine running down a long tale
It's all over when you reach the teeth
It runs from the sacred womb
To the elegy blessed shiny wooden tomb
She will run this course loveless
like many men who dread their feelings
directed by their fears
the grass is soft her feet step gently across it
she fantasizes about an amazing person a special day
faith so souplike so nutritious in a world without meaning
Not changing herself as she looks in the mirror of the playhouse
gossip and social expectations
The importance of appearances and personal mock tests
Lost youth tatooed and warped by potent illusions
sold and rented across mass produced screens
The deep fantasy of the bridal gown and chapel
The playhouse empty
The mirror
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