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Prima Donna
August 30, 2009
Prima Donna dances, lavished in her pink lace
and heart lockets; her form displays yearbook quality.
She begins to drip black, acidic sweat onto her
entranced audience, setting their skin afire.
Prima Donna watches, gazes on,
As the thrashing and screaming begins.
Not a hair curls out of place on her perfect head.
She stands, a rigid cactus warped and dry to all
but her inner self, towering ignorantly over the area
around her -And never taking a step away or
towards the unfolding chaos she caused.
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