Whispers follow her down the hallway.
She tries to tune out the words
That are threatening to engulf her in a sea of sound.
She walks on but silent stares that speak volumes
Follow her wherever she goes.
She is an apple that has fell from the top of the tree
To the cold hard ground,
All because of one night.
Meanwhile, he is hailed like a king
By his fellow males
For rising from rags to riches
All in one night.
He is as pure as gold
While she is as sordid as the
Dirt beneath their feet…
For doing the very same thing
She tries to paint over the dark spots...
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