and as the social aspect of the parties tarnished
it became harder to fit into her skin
because her life of substance grew more heartless.
It can’t buy happiness or so she’d proven
as time after time the Rolex lost a minute.
Familial lines drawn and crossed too often
in this life of privilege lived well beyond its limits.
The dinner functions riled a certain hunger
because of Pavlovian responses to the table
further deluding the spell that she was under
conjured by the spoons, balloons and candles.
The works were lacking but she knew the fix
was needed because she’d long since been broken.
The hollow from her trust had led to this;
love lacking, the money was just a token.
The curtains pulled, another cobra charmed
from the basket. A fang finds its target
too familiar. Effortless blood is drawn.
The venom plunged would finish what was started.
The room whirled and the world slipped from her grasp,
and a narrow escape was now somehow wider.
Loud hums were hushed as the second door slammed
leaving the penthouse hell far behind her.