The mocking, echoic wall taunts

And casts back the lamenting hatred

From the simple, fair allure

That woefully wavers before it.

Like baby's breath, envious

Of the rose with which she consorts,

Her frail form quivers, her visage

Contorting with the torture of her desire,

Her wistful wail for the world's lechery,

For that voluptuous icon of feminality,

Relentlessly augmenting the void within

The soul of this singular goddess

That screams and thrashes at that same wall

To be noticed, but is obscured by her own vanity.