Flower

All of seventeenEyes a purple greenTreated like a queen, she wasOn borrowed self esteemShe would do a danceA painful masqueradeSpinning you into her webAlong her vain paradeIn her uniformStudded brass and steelKissing lipstick, napkin stainsAnd smearing sincerityAlong her vain paradeAlong her veinsTime crept up on herShe's early grayHer reflection looks concernedAs flowers hit her grave