She Sorrows

She aches from the stark incongruity
Of her mind spells from primal tendencies
That ever so forcefully she buries,
And yet her claimed dignity fails to ease
The ache that never leaves, and so she weeps.

Her men have all failed her as she failed them;
A parade of sorry clowns honking horns,
And mufflers she wears as she goes about
Playing the noble part of redeemed dame
From whoredom to the palace of the pure,
Cured of her self-hate, or so it may seem...

But leave, never it wanes.