I have met this woman,
A curious one,
Curiously paranoid
Like a soon to be victim.
She's always dressed the same,
The caked eyeshadow,
Nurse's clothing.
Green as in escort.
Always a look;
As though she is afraid
Of me, of you, people,
As though she needs,
A cigarette, a drink,
A tranquilizer.
It makes you wonder,
What made her this way.
Why?
Why does she jump,
When someone comes up behind her?
Why does she stumble,
With words when she is talking to people?
Why is she afraid?
Though I wonder if it is an act,
And she knows what people think of her
And she plans to get you back,
She'll come after you:
From behind,
Surprising you, as you did her.
Hmm....
Now I am like her, I suppose.
This addicting vice
Has caught on.
This is her paranoid triumph.
This is her escape.
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