No one is immune.
You keep on keeping on for a long as you can until you can’t,
and then give up, going through the motions other tell you to go though like
those half naked mannequins in department store windows where someone
manipulates the arms and legs, and positions the head to be the most appealing
to those looking in from the sidewalk.
None of it is real or authentic as she seems to believe, locked
into a fantasy beyond which she thinks she sells to the public, a kind of kids
game when she dresses up to be someone new each time, putting on adult clothing
in an effort to feel grown up, when none of us really are.
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