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She is Dead

Frozen in time, inside of a frame.
She is pure; she is exquisite.
Her youth and her love
will last forever.
She is dead.

She was an icon; I wanted to be her.
Porcelain skin; sun-kissed; skinny.
Now I fear her perfectness
because, though it lasts forever,
she is dead.

She touched so many people.
She had friends; she had lovers.
She had me, her little sister.
But she has hurt all of those people because
she is dead.

Now she has a song; now she has a story.
But they will never bring her back.
She will never get to hear them because
she is dead.



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