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