The Nail Bar

I was chatting to a lady,

In a seedy, smelly bar.

When she told me of her worries

That would best be in a jar.


It wasn't chat from alcohol,

acetone her vice;

Filed and painted nails,

Pretend to make her nice.


She described a bad life,

Caring for her dad,

Feeding him and coping,

She seemed so very sad.


She spoke as if I knew her,

Lonely, sad and blue.

She faked a painted smile

memories she told a few.


It seemed she had such sadness,

Hiding all her pain,

A mask of decoration

Fake like purple rain. 


Finished and she smiled,

Looked down at peacock hands,

She walked towards the door.

Life never goes as planned

Stranger sadness everyday life

◄ Whitby Abbey

The Dead Dolls ►


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Robert Mann

Thu 15th Jun 2017 18:22

Louise - I'm afraid this one doesn't work for me.

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