In Which I Pretentiously Refer To Myself In The Third Person And Begin Titles With “In Which”

At first she liked being detached;

A haughty independence hatched...

Forgotten friends and forlorn hopes

Harassed no more with horoscopes;

Those touchy-feely wretches...

Free of them, she whispered "ciao"

In sultry sumptuous stretches...

But now,

Though scabrous flings and fallacious facades

Delay the assault of Moirai's promenades,

Betwixt twisted raptures

Vacuity captures her mood midst the meager mean musings of age,

When her penitent breath dews the bars of her cage,

And secretly a thought distends

Invisibly from wispy ends;

A thought injected, fierce and wry:

"What good upon the earth am I?"

She offers no resistance.

And so she sits and so she sighs

Nostalgia misting gluey eyes

Until the next foul ache decries

The ennui of existence.