she muses
on actresses
and their crooked smiles,
on truffles
looking lovely in glass jars.
she ponders sit ups and pushups,
pull ups and let downs,
and cracks her neck,
stretches her arms out,
thinks about
the glamorous death of smoking.
It's time for bed,
not that she wants it,
but she can feel the tired coming on.
It's time for sleep,
time to die
another day.
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