Kohl-lined eyes and a blue skirt
Sometimes even a dash of red,
And she was beautiful for one more night
Before the sun rose,torn, from her bed..
The mirror glared and the sunbeams scorned..
The skirt shed tears from where it hung,
The patches cried with heartbroken sobs..
The blue that had soothed, now stung..
She sat bare from dawn to dusk..
With only void feelings to lend,
of what remained throttled in sheets
Unwashed, untouched... unkempt..
She lived in the pleasure of his leisure
But perished when conscience begun..
The daily knocking on the door..
The door that his beloved did shun..
Motionless at the doorway of solitude,
She stood endlessly as if she'd been,
Lured in by the mirage of love..
Tumbling upon the sands of sin..
Trapped in what made her mark days,
Imprisoned where they spared none..
He is called "The Tragic Hero"..
While she remains.. "The Other Woman"..