I saw the beauty, it was her name, I carved it on the wall, her long golden her, her eyes of Blue, Her name echoed Lyndsey, her legs were tall, yet I was small.
Adorable to me, my heart was a flutter, it felt to me as though she could melt butter, with her little wry smile that’d linger a moment, I would lean on the wall and observe for a while.
Surrounded by girls and boys alike, she; crowd stopping to see, for only a fleeting second she would notice a boy like me, last I heard, Lyndsey became a model, took lots of drugs and liked a little tipple.
History is part of a tiny memory, encouraged by money, drugs, friends, men a many, Lyndsey lost weight, on a bulimic craze, surrounded by faces at her grave side mass, it all seem trivial, if a little crass.
No comments:
Post a Comment