(Dead Weight)

How terrible it is
To be a burden –
For they shall be sick of you,
Little girl,
Someday.
Make them a dance,
Turn them a twirl –
Make them want you.
For if they don’t,
What remains of you, then?
They won’t come back,
And you’ll lose your way –
They won’t turn back,
Or throw you a glance –
They shan’t remember your name,
Little girl;
There will be no second chance.
Not for you.

SJL: 15th March, 2004